Retribution (26 page)

A low branch, reflecting the red and blue of the holiday lights, hung over the sidewalk. She pushed it to the side as she jogged past, and heard the swish as it returned to its rightful place.

She smiled, thinking of the times Roger had accompanied her to church. During prayer, she had looked behind shielded eyes and had been warmed by the devotion in his face. Lately he had started asking questions about her faith, and she shared as honestly as she could.

God had been good to her, and she wanted Roger to understand His divine love. There were secrets in his past; she could tell by the way he answered some of her questions. And the pained expressions he tried to hide. But he was a good man, so why was she hesitant to return his affection?

He was not Craig. Roger was a good man, but there would never be another Craig. If she ever married again, she would never experience the deep love that had been hers the first time.

Her expression turned wistful as she remembered Paul and her first reaction when he stopped her for speeding. She felt so safe around him, but there was no man less safe than Paul Studler. If only he weren't a policeman…

Educated to rely only on the truth, she knew that wishes were nothing more than puffs of air built without foundations. Her pace increased, feet thumping on the sidewalk, each step one length closer to pushing Paul Studler from her mind.

As her mind roamed to the fires, her breathing tightened. She stopped to rest, surprised to find herself already at the square. The center of town wasn't really square, but more a rectangle. The courthouse sat in the middle, with a huge decorated pine standing beside a fountain that, even in December, spurted water into a round splashing pool. Most of the businesses surrounding the outer edge of the square closed at five. She stood alone in the dark.

A silent figure rounded the corner of the courthouse.

She sucked in her breath as her heart raced. Standing in the open alone made her an easy target. She strained to see through the darkness, desperate for a place to hide, or a weapon. Just because Darlington was a small little town didn't mean she should turn stupid.

Sprinting away from the square, trying to stay against the brick building, she hoped her dark jacket would help conceal her. She chanced another glance over her shoulder and stopped. The stranger's shuffle seemed familiar. Her heart lurched upon recognition. He should not be in the square anymore than she at this hour of the night. Oblivious of the dark, she darted across the empty street and around the courthouse, trying to reach the man before he disappeared.

“Joe!” Her voice bounced off sleeping buildings. Panting, she reached the startled man. “Joe, what are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be at the shelter?” The short speech stole her remaining breath and she bent over, hands on her knees. “Can we sit down?”

“What are you doing out here?” She repeated once they had settled on the concrete bench. The coldness penetrated through her clothing and she pulled her jacket tighter.

Joe stared at her, his dark eyes blank. Finally he spoke. “Why are you not home?”

She smiled. Strange how her choice of friends had changed. “I needed to go for a walk to clear my head so I can sleep. But why aren't you at the shelter?”

“Sometimes I have a better place.”

“A better place? Here in Darlington?” A laugh bubbled at the back of her throat. There wasn't another shelter in the city.

“Too noisy.”

The noise she could understand. “I needed some time alone myself.”

“I saw that man again.”

Startled, she scanned the area for another late-night walker. As much as she cared about Joe, he would be no help in a fight.

A light breeze shifted the strings of lights on the tall pine across from them, sending splashes of color onto the black shadows. None of the shadows moved.

She looked longer, harder, daring the darkness to shift, to breathe, to reveal its hidden stalker.

The night remained still.

“Not here.”

Confused, she turned toward him. Then she remembered. “Oh, you mean Roger.” She signed in relief. “Why don't you like him?”

A car sped around the square, its headlights settling on them long enough to expose Joe's deep scowl. She had known him long enough to recognize his expressions. He was worried.

“Joe, did you try to rent a house from Roger?” He rarely sought her eyes, so when he locked his gaze on her, the intensity of his concern shook her.

“He is an angry man.”

“Do you mean that night at the shelter?”

He removed his gaze from her. “Not just then.”

A light breeze shifted the strands of lights on the tree, the shimmer reflecting off Joe's hand. She stared at it, intrigued. Strange she had never noticed it before. “Your ring, Joe. It has unusual marks on it.”

“My wedding band.”

The fact that Joe might have been married had never crossed her mind. In fact, she had never thought of him as having a life at all. Of course, he had not always lived on the streets.

“You're married?”

“Helen. She died.” He shuffled his feet. “I moved the ring. It doesn't fit anymore.”

“Joe, I'm sorry. I was married once too.” She wanted to touch him, to share physical comfort by hugging his shoulders, but she knew he feared touch, as did many of the homeless men. Instead, she focused on the dark nothingness in front of her. “My husband's name was Craig. We had a little girl, Susan.” She felt his eyes burn into the side of her face. “They died in a house fire.”

“No, not your house. His house.”

“Not here, Joe,” she murmured quietly. “I lived in Cleveland then. That was two years ago.”

“He burned his house.”

His words pulled her from her memories. She turned toward him, the darkness and cold forgotten. “Roger burned down his own house? How do you know that?” Joe had to be delusional.

“I saw him. Then he ran away.”

As an attorney, she had heard hundreds of sworn testimonies where actions had been misinterpreted. Like a dozen witnesses who give twelve different versions of what they watched happened. Roger couldn't have set his house on fire. He wouldn't.

Her mouth went dry as the weight of Joe's words settled over her. He had to be wrong, but even so, the fact that Joe suspected Roger of malice added to the divisiveness in her life. Suddenly she ached to be home in her bed. Her arms were shaking, and she wrapped them around her body. The openness that she had hungrily sought an hour ago now felt big and dark, hovering, with monsters hiding behind each shadow. She jumped from the bench. “Joe, will you be all right? I can go home and bring back my car…”

“I am fine.”

As she turned to go, he grabbed her hand. He had never touched her before; she caught herself before she jerked away. His stare again held steady on her face. “He is not good.”

Forgetting the heaved-up cracks in the cement, she ran home.

Joe's face stayed in front of her and his voice kept repeating his warning. “He is not good…he is not good.”

20

Roger's head throbbed. He barely heard Chief Watson's explanation of the latest fire, something about this event being different.
Will these headaches never end?
When had they started? Maybe about the time he had made an agreement with his partner. No, before that. Shortly after his marriage, when his father-in-law—

“So do you have any idea who it could have been?” The chief's hard gaze was locked on Roger's face.

Roger ran his hand over his eyes and felt the wetness that had accumulated on his skin. “What was that again?”

“The body.” The chief clenched his teeth. “The remains were badly burned. Who lived in the house last?”

Who had lived there? Throbbing pain attached itself behind his eyes. He opened the file Latoya had placed on his desk. “Janet Brown and her four kids. Single mom, but in-and-out boyfriends if you believe the gossip.” Nausea gripped him and he swallowed hard.

Chief Watson scribbled the name on a piece of paper. “Current address?”

Roger gave him the new address for Janet and her brood and watched as the chief wrote it down and shoved the paper into his pocket.

“This last fire has changed everything,” the chief said. “Arson was bad enough, but now it's murder.”

The pain felt like someone was closing his coffin, one pounding nail in his head at a time. He had to get out of Darlington. Everything would be better then. So why the reluctance to finish his job with Lillian? As soon as she was dead, he could go anywhere he wanted.

“One more thing,” the chief said. “The only identifiable item on the body was a ring. Sound like any of your clients?”

Did the man have any idea how many people came through his office? How was he supposed to remember details like that? “Most of the people I see wear rings all over their bodies. A ring is no big deal.”

“So you have no idea who this person could be?”

“Sorry.”

Chief Watson stared long at him before standing to leave. What was going through the man's mind? Acid rose from his gut and the pain in his throat mingled with the pounding in his head. He couldn't take any more of this. Tonight he would finish what she had started.

~*~

“Where's that husband of yours?” Bill asked as he walked through the kitchen door and helped himself to a cookie. A heavy stream of air pushed through his nose as he settled into the kitchen chair.

Trina set a platter of cookies on the table, poured herself a glass of milk, and sat across from her dad. “He's out in the workshop.”

“He's been out there a lot lately. Can I expect a big Christmas present?” He chuckled and grabbed another cookie, stuffing the round pastry into his mouth.

“Ha, you can wish. No, he's finishing a big job for a college in Columbia.”

“Columbia, as in the capital of South Carolina, or Colombia, as in South America?”

“Oh, Dad, you're so funny.” She took a sip of milk and peered intently at her father. “I'm glad you decided to stay. I know it was a big sacrifice, but I love having you here every day, being a part of my life again. And I'll love having you help raise the baby.”

Trina was lovely as she blossomed with child. His heart ached with love for her, so why was he so torn between staying and going back to Ohio? Nothing waited there for him but his old life and his house. His daughter needed him, and he needed her. It should be simple, but it didn't feel that way. He got up and got himself a cup of coffee.

Trina's eyes grew round. “Quick, give me your hand. The baby's moving.” She placed his palm on her abdomen and gave a big smile.

He held his hand still, waiting. Trina had let him feel the baby move a couple of times before, and the joy of sharing in new life was indescribable. Waiting patiently, he felt the light push against his palm. The shape of a foot under Trina's skin made him grin, but the tiny bump quickly pulled away from his touch. The miracle of life amazed him. How could anyone believe that humans just happened? And how could he possibly consider giving this up? And yet, how could he stay? The house in Ohio would never sell in today's market, and it would sit there and deteriorate. A home needed attention, someone in residence.

A sharp rap sounded at the back door, and Paul strode in, his face pale, rigid with its lack of expression.

This was not a social call.

“I didn't see Lillian's car,” Paul said. “Are you expecting her back soon?”

“She went to the office to clean out her files and get a head start on the next semester's work,” Trina said. “She'll be back about four. Is something wrong?”

“It's almost four now if you want to wait.” Bill's heart rate escalated as he returned to his place at the table. So this was about Lillian. There had been no premonitions of danger. Had she somehow gotten below his radar? She had been here weeks now, as the sense of danger waxed and waned, his concern had followed course. In spite of it all, he liked the young woman and had hoped he could prevent whatever she had planned.

Paul took three cookies and shoved one into his mouth.

”Want a cup of coffee to go with those cookies?” Trina asked, her eyes twinkling. Her attempt at humor was lost on the tense officer.

“No thanks.” Paul slumped into the chair at the table that faced the door. He wiped his face with his hand.

“Bad day?” Bill asked.

“Too many bad days lately.”

Bill slurped his coffee. “So what's with you and Lillian?”

“This is a business call.”

“Good enough, but it seems to me you've been going out of your way to avoid her.” Bill stared at the younger man. “Tell me if I'm wrong, but I kind of thought you might be sweet on her.”

“She prefers Roger.”

“Are you sure?”

“Look, I'm not happy to be here, and you aren't making my job any easier. Let it drop, will you?”

“Lillian's here.” Trina pulled up from her chair. “I have things to do upstairs.”

Bill watched his daughter leave the room before he turned to Paul. “You want to talk to her alone?”

“It's not confidential…but maybe…I really wanted Trina—”

“For goodness sake, man, spit it out. Do you want me to stay or leave?”

The door squeaked. “Hi, Paul. I saw your cruiser outside.”

Paul stood as Lillian dumped her purse on the counter and grabbed a cookie. Dressed in jeans and a holiday sweater, she looked as carefree as her students probably felt.

“You might as well sit down,” Bill said.

She raised her eyebrows.

“I have to ask you some questions about last night's fire,” Paul said.

She took a few even breaths before sitting across the table from Paul. Fear flickered in her eyes.

As Bill began to stand, Lillian motioned him to sit.

“If you don't mind,” she said.