Sudden Death (24 page)

L
AURIE AND
T
ARA
are waiting for me when I get home. My two favorite ladies.

We all go for a walk around the neighborhood. I haven’t been spending nearly enough time with Tara, and I want to change that now. She seems to be getting more white in her face each day, a sign of advancing age in golden retrievers. In Tara’s case it’s less significant than in other goldens, because Tara is going to live forever.

The scene at the Pollards’ and the lingering depression over Adam’s death have really taken their toll on me, and I’m feeling little of the euphoria that I would ordinarily feel after a victory like the one in court today. For that reason I didn’t schedule the party we have at Charlie’s after every positive jury verdict.

“You were brilliant, Andy,” Laurie says. “I don’t know that there’s another lawyer in the country that could have gotten Kenny acquitted with the evidence they had.”

“Adam did it. I was nowhere until Adam came up with the answer.”

“He helped, but you led the team, and you got it done. Don’t take that away from yourself.”

“It was awful at the Pollards’ house today,” I say. “I’m just so tired of all this death and pain. And I keep saying that, and yet I don’t change anything.”

“You’re doing what you were meant to do, in the place you were meant to do it. And I think that down deep you know that.”

I shake my head. “Not right now I don’t.”

“If not for you, Kenny Schilling’s life would be over, and Bobby Pollard would still be out there killing. The death and pain would be much worse.”

“But I wouldn’t have to look at it.”

We walk for a while longer, and I say, “What Teri Pollard went through is beyond awful. This man she devoted herself to, every day of her life, completely betrayed her. And then, after she stayed, after she forgave him, he left her to deal with everything alone.”

“She’s a strong woman,” Laurie says. “She’ll rely on the core of that strength, and she’ll get through it.”

“You’re a more optimistic person than I am.”

“I don’t think so,” she says. “You’re just more honest about it. I have as many doubts as anyone, but I learned a long time ago that it doesn’t help to give in to them. That we have to do what we think is best and deal with the consequences.”

We walk another block in silence, and I say, “You’re leaving.” It’s a statement, not a question, that comes from some hidden place of certainty and dread.

“Yes, Andy. I am.”

I feel like a house is sitting on top of me, but it hasn’t been dropped suddenly. It’s more like it’s been lowered on me. I’ve seen it coming for a while, but even though it was huge and obvious, I just couldn’t seem to get out of the way.

I don’t say anything, I can’t say anything, so she continues. “I wish more than anything in the world that you would come with me, but I know you won’t, and I’m not sure that you should. But I will always love you.”

I want to tell Laurie that I love her, and that I hate her, and that I don’t want her to go, and that I want her to get the hell out of my life this very instant.

What I say is, “Have a nice life.”

And then Laurie keeps walking, but Tara and I turn and walk back home.

P
EOPLE TELL ME
that the intense pain is going to wear off. They say that it will gradually become a dull ache and eventually disappear. I hope they’re right, because a dull ache sounds pretty good right now.

Of course, my circle of friends is not renowned for their sensitivity and depth of human emotion, so they could be wrong. The agony I currently feel over losing Laurie could stay with me, which right now would seem to be more than I can stand.

I tell myself to apply logic. If she left me, she doesn’t love me. If she doesn’t love me, then I haven’t lost that much by her leaving. If I haven’t lost that much, it shouldn’t hurt like this. But it does, and logic loses out. I can count the times that logic has lost out in my mind on very few fingers.

Even gambling on sports doesn’t help. In normal times a Sunday spent gambling on televised games allows me to escape from anything, but Laurie’s leaving is the Alcatraz of emotional problems. I can’t get away from it, no matter what I do.

I spend half of my time waiting for the phone to ring, hoping that Laurie is calling to change her mind and beg my forgiveness. The other half of my time I spend considering whether to call and tell her I’ll be on the first plane to Findlay. But she won’t call, and neither will I, not now, not ever.

Tonight Pete, Kevin, Vince, and Sam have taken me to Charlie’s to watch
Monday Night Football.
The Giants are playing the Eagles, which would be a big deal if I gave a shit about it. I don’t.

Halftime has apparently been designated as the time to convince me to get on with my life. They’ve got women to fix me up with, vacations I should take, and cases I should start working on. None of those things have any appeal, and I tell them so. The chance of my going on a blind date, or taking on a new case, is about equal in likelihood to my setting fire to myself. Maybe less.

Sam drives me home and is sensitive enough not to song-talk, though he would have no shortage of sad tunes to pick from. Instead, he thanks me for the opportunity I gave him to work on the case; it’s something he loves and would like to do more of in the future.

I remind him that both Barry Leiter and Adam have died in the last couple of years doing the same kind of work. “Why don’t you do something safer, like become a fighter pilot or work for the bomb squad?” I ask.

Sam drops me off at home, and I open the door to a tail-wagging Tara. I believe she knows I need more love and support than usual, and she’s trying to provide it. I appreciate it, but this may be that rare job bigger than Tara.

I get into bed and take a few minutes to convince myself that tomorrow will be a better day. I mean, the fact is that Laurie was my
girlfriend.
Nothing more, nothing less. It’s just not that big a deal. Who’s going to feel sorry for you just because you and your
girlfriend
broke up? It’s not exactly high up on the list of personal tragedies. In fact, if somebody hears you say it, the question they would be expected to ask is something like, “Well, then, who are you going to take to the prom?”

With that self-administered pep talk having failed once again to get through to me, I remember that I had set up a therapy session with Carlotta Abbruzze tomorrow, hoping that she could help me deal with Laurie’s leaving. My view now is that the only way Carlotta can help me is if she calls Laurie and talks her into coming back.

In the morning I take Tara for a walk, and we’re halfway through it when I realize I had scheduled a meeting with Kenny Schilling at his house at ten. After every case I wait a while and then meet with the client. It’s to go over my final bill, but, more important, to find out how the client is adjusting and to answer any remaining questions he or she has. It’s always nice when that meeting is not in prison.

Kenny and Tanya graciously welcome me into their home, and Tanya goes off to get coffee. Kenny’s wearing a sweat suit, aptly named because it’s drenched with sweat.

“Sorry I didn’t get dressed all fancy for my lawyer,” he says with a smile, “but I’ve got to get in shape.”

“I won’t keep you long,” I say, and we quickly go over my bill, which despite its large size draws no objection from him. It’s actually less than the estimate I had given him at the start of the trial.

“I still can’t believe Bobby killed all those people,” Kenny says.

“Could you believe he wasn’t paralyzed?” I ask.

“No, that just blew me away.”

Kenny and Tanya have very few questions; they’re still flushed with relief that their lives haven’t been permanently derailed. I finish my coffee and get up to leave.

“Man, can’t you stay another couple of hours? I need an excuse not to work out.”

“That’s probably the only athletic thing we have in common. Hey, let me ask you a question,” I say, and then describe in detail my plan to become a placekicker for the Giants.

“That sounds pretty good,” he says.

“You think it could work?”

“Not a chance in hell,” he says, and laughs.

He’s challenging my manhood. “Be careful or I’ll be on that field before you will,” I say.

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. They’re looking to activate me next week in time for the game at Cincinnati.”

Tanya stands to pick up the coffee cups. “Don’t remind me,” she says, smiling.

The comment surprises me. “You don’t want him to play?”

“Not in Cincinnati. I’ve got bad memories of that. But this time I’m going… Watching it on television was horrible.”

Kenny explains. “I got my bell rung in the fourth quarter when we were out there two years ago. I was out cold. Late hit.”

I nod. “I think I remember that.”

“Only time that ever happened to me. Man, that was scary as hell. Next thing I knew it was four hours later in the hospital. I didn’t even know who won. Bobby had to tell me.” He shakes his head sadly, probably at the awareness that Bobby won’t be there to tell him anything anymore.

I head out to the car, and I’m three blocks away when it hits me. I drive the three blocks back to the house about twice as fast, then jump out and pop open the trunk. I’ve brought a lot of my case files with me, in case I needed to refer to them to answer any questions about my bill, and now I pore through them until I find the piece of information I need.

Tanya Schilling is surprised to find me standing there when she answers the doorbell. “Sorry, but I need to talk to Kenny.”

“Sure, come on in,” she says. “He’s still in the den goofing off.”

She goes into the kitchen while I go back into the den. Kenny is also surprised by my reappearance. “Hey, you forget something?”

“Are you positive that Bobby was with you in the hospital in Cincinnati?” I ask.

“Absolutely. And not just because he was my friend. He was my trainer… it was his job to be there.”

“Kenny, I’m going to ask you something I’ve asked you before. Last time you wouldn’t answer; this time you’ve got to.”

“What is it?”

“The night you dropped Troy off at his house… the night he died… who was the woman you were arguing about?”

“I told you, I don’t remember,” he says. He can see by my face that I’m not going to drop it, so he changes his approach. “She’s got nothing to do with this.”

“I think she’s got everything to do with it,” I say.

“Tell him, Kenny.” It’s Tanya, standing in the doorway.

Kenny looks like the classic deer in the headlights. “Tell him what?” he asks, but it’s clear he knows what. And he now knows that she knows.

Her voice is firm. “You tell him or I will.”

I press him. “Who were you arguing about that night, Kenny?”

He nods in resignation. “Teri Pollard. Bobby’s wife.”

I already knew the answer to that question, and I can make a good guess at the answer to the next one. “Why were you arguing?”

Kenny looks at Tanya, gets no help, and turns back to me. “Troy was fooling around with her.”

“Why did you care?”

“Bobby was my friend. They had a good marriage… they had a son… I didn’t want him breaking them up.”

“There’s more to it than that,” I say.

“No,” Kenny says, “that’s it.”

I turn to Tanya. “Can you tell me?”

She nods. “Yes, I’ll tell you. Jason Pollard is Kenny’s son.”

Kenny whirls in surprise. “How did you know that?”

“Because I know you. Because I live with you. Because I understand you. You think I could watch you for all these years and not know what was going on? How stupid do you think I am?”

With no need to keep the secret from Tanya anymore, the story pours out. Kenny had a brief affair with Teri back when they were graduating high school; he thinks it was not long after the all-American weekend, but he can’t be sure. Teri was planning to marry Bobby at the time and went ahead with it.

“When did she tell you that you were the father?” I ask.

“Maybe six months after Bobby’s accident. I had just met Tanya. I’ve helped support Jason ever since.” He looks at Tanya. “Teri insisted that I keep it a secret, or she would cut me off from Jason. I didn’t want that to happen. I’m so sorry.”

“Did Teri want to leave Bobby for you?”

He nods. “Yeah, at first. But that was years ago. Why do you need to know all this?”

“Unless I’m very wrong, Teri Pollard killed Troy Preston. She killed her husband. She killed all of them.”