The Second Trial (9 page)

“Grandpa's gonna pick us up soon,” he said with a quick smile, trying to make up for his previous gruffness.

“Oh,” she replied.

When Grandpa hurried in, Grandma was right behind him. She hesitated when she approached Danny, but continued straight to Catherine's room.

Grandpa sat on the couch across from Danny, jingling the car keys from hand to hand. “Where's Jen?” he asked.

Danny shrugged, refusing to meet his grandfather's eyes.

“You get Buddy into the car. I'll fetch her.”

Danny tugged on his runners without unlacing them. Buddy raced to the back door and returned with the orange Frisbee dangling from his mouth, his tail flying back and forth – happy, happy, happy.

Danny sat in back with Buddy, and Jennifer buckled herself in beside Grandpa. No one said anything about Grandma staying behind. No one listened to the radio newscast. Their silence filled the car.

As soon as they reached the house, Jennifer vanished into the TV room.

“Why don't you take Buddy out back?” asked Grandpa. “I'll join you in a minute.”

Danny sat on the weathered park bench under the weeping birch. Buddy stretched out underneath in the shade.

As a geology teacher, Grandpa had always joked that his job was to fill their lives with rocks. Every July he traveled to all kinds of places to study and collect rocks and gems. But he stayed home in August, and Danny would visit as often as he could. Grandpa would show him pictures from his trips and teach him how to identify and classify rocks. His collection filled drawers and spilled into the backyard. He had a story for each rock and although Danny had heard them all, he never tired of hearing them again.

Danny's legs dangled from the brand new cedar bench. “Come on, Grandpa,” he said, pointing to a pumpkin-sized rock. “Tell me about this one.”

“Well now, that's a beaut. That's British Columbia jade.” His words were always unhurried and even, whether he was teaching high-school students or his young grandson. He was never impatient, even when he'd answered the same question a thousand times.

“We picked that up on our way to the Arctic Circle. I think your mom had just finished Grade 1 when we found it. This beauty still shines as brightly as it did when your mom and I dragged it up the hill and into the truck all those years ago.” He leaned over and stroked the rock. “Just look at the way the jade catches the sunlight. They used to say rubbing jade across your body would cure stomach problems.”

He tugged on Grandpa's hand, leading him toward another rock. “What about this one, Grandpa?”

As always, Grandpa responded with enthusiasm. “Oh, now this one is special. It's both a rock and a tree. Millions of years ago it grew in a different kind of forest. The trees were twice as tall as they are now. It was hot and humid – a tropical rainforest. There were streams and swamps full of fish and reptiles and even clams. When trees fell, they were swept downstream and some ended up lodged in the mud. In time, the trees were covered with layers and layers of mud and sediment.”

Danny stayed close to Grandpa and listened.

“Over many, many years, chemicals seeped into this tree trunk and a chemical reaction turned the wood into quartz crystals. As those crystals grew, the wood turned into stone. We call it petrified wood. It's fascinating, Danny-boy. Because it's a rock that used to be a tree, it lets us look into the past and see what a place was like millions of years ago. Anyway, your mother and I dug up this stump up and hauled it home. We placed it here and planted a young birch tree beside it – the present beside the past.”

The cedar bench had grayed and the birch had grown up and out, but the petrified wood at its base remained unchanged. Danny and Grandpa sat quietly, each with his own memories. Then, as if he'd grown impatient with the two of them, Buddy ambled over, lifted his leg, and peed on the petrified stump.

Grandpa had to chuckle. “It's all the same to Buddy. A tree is a tree, whether it's millions of years old or not. It still has its uses.” He smiled and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes straight ahead, his hands fiddling with something. Out of the corner of his eye, Danny could see it was one of his stones.

He passed the rock to Danny. It was about the size and shape of a plum cut in half. Its white surface was worn smooth and the depression invited Danny's thumb to rub across it, back and forth, back and forth. His voice as steady and even as always, Grandpa said, “Mother Nature seems to have created these with us in mind. They're called worry stones. They fit beautifully between your fingers and your thumb. The ancient Greeks believed rubbing them would lessen tension and anxiety and bring a person peace. I think it works. They feel good in your hand and they can help you forget your troubles for a while.”

Grandpa sighed. “Your mother's having a hard time right now.”

Danny said nothing.
Rub, rub. Rub, rub.

“She's doing the best she can.”

Rub, rub. Rub, rub.

“She really loves you and Jen.”

Nothing from Danny.

“She has to do what she thinks is right.”

“Right?” exclaimed Danny, startling the dog. He turned toward Grandpa, narrowing his eyes. “What do you mean, right?” he challenged. “What's
right
about getting drunk? How can it be
right
to burn my father's clothes?”

It was Grandpa's turn to be silent.

Danny shoved himself off the bench and threw the stone into the thorn bushes. He stalked through the back gate, oblivious to his dog who followed closely.

Chapter 14

Tuesday

After half an hour of aimless walking, Danny found himself back at his mother's old school. Wide gray-flecked granite steps led to the front doors. He sat and Buddy rested his muzzle across Danny's feet. Danny squinted into the indifferent sun and wished for his New York Yankees ball cap. A headache had smoldered to life behind his eyes.

A police cruiser pulled to a stop in front of the school. Since the last assault, Buddy had been wary of police cars if they came near. The dog rose, nose twitching, all senses on alert. Danny reached over to stroke Buddy's head without taking his eyes off the figure getting out of the car.

It was Sgt. Sandhu. He wore his summer uniform. The black leather belt at his waist held a baton, a radio, and a holstered gun. He stopped beside the open cruiser door to put on his cap, hesitated, and then threw the cap back.

Buddy relaxed and his tail started to wag as the police officer came near.

Danny said nothing as Sgt. Sandhu reached over to tousle Buddy's ears.

“Hi Buddy. How are ya', boy?” The officer sat beside Danny. “Hi. Your grandpa said you might be here.”

Danny refused to meet the officer's eyes.

“We need to have that talk,” Sgt. Sandhu said quietly.

“About what?” Danny replied, sounding surlier than he had intended.

“Some stuff about your family.”

He snorted. “Family? What family? My dad's in jail and my mom's drunk.
That's
my family.” The bitter words brought a sudden sting to his eyes.

“Try not to be too hard on her, Danny. She's having –”

“
Having a hard time?
” He looked squarely at the police officer. “Everyone's telling me that
she's
having a hard time! Well, what about me? Who cares about what
I
think? Last night she burned all Dad's clothes!”

“I know. She told me,” Sgt. Sandhu replied, in the same even tone.

“She
told
you?”

Danny paused and grappled with this new information. It meant…Sgt. Sandhu had already spoken to his mom
and
his grandparents. He'd come, on duty and in uniform, to find him. He knew about the burning and still defended Mom…

“I know this is hard on you, too,” he told the boy. “And on your sister.” He paused, then wet his lips and looked away. “In fact, it's not easy for anybody.”

Danny no longer had any idea what the facts, in fact, were. Now more confused than angry, he ground his palms into his eyes until little white fireworks exploded in the dark.

“It looks like you're hurting. First, let's go get you something for that headache,” Sgt. Sandhu said, heading for his cruiser. “Then we've got some people to see.”

It was a short drive back. “I'll take Buddy while you get a couple of aspirins, okay?” said Sgt. Sandhu. He took the dog around back as Danny shuffled up the steps. The screen door window was open, and his grandparents were in the living room, speaking in low tones. To ensure they knew he was there, he clumped to the basement bedroom in his shoes. His baseball cap hung in its usual place. He slipped it on, the smell of dust and sweat as familiar as the easy fit of the cap. He lingered and then went to the bathroom medicine cabinet for some aspirin. He shut the cabinet and looked away from his reflection in the mirror. He pulled his cap down over his forehead. The bill's shadow smudged his blue eyes.

Grandma and Grandpa had moved to the backyard where they were talking to Sgt. Sandhu. Danny hesitated, uncertain whether to join them or slip out the front. But Sgt. Sandhu noticed him and waved him over. Danny jabbed his hands into his pockets and shouldered open the screen door. Grandma and Grandpa looked at him, and turned quickly away, but not before he noticed that even Grandpa had been crying.

Twenty minutes later, the police car pulled up in front of a nondescript downtown office tower. Sgt. Sandhu parked directly in front of the revolving doors under the
No Parking
sign. Danny could see passersby peering suspiciously at him through the tinted glass. He glared back.

The doors opened into a typical office lobby. A uniformed security guard, the kind Danny called a rent-a-cop, nodded at Sgt. Sandhu.

The elevator opened on the sixth floor and Danny followed Sgt. Sandhu to a heavy wooden door with an intercom beside it. They were buzzed into a furnished waiting area. Sgt. Sandhu motioned toward a chair. “Have a seat.”

They were alone in a windowless room. The far wall held another door, except it was metal. Beside it was a full-length mirror. Danny knew from watching movies that it was a two-way mirror. A camera hung from its corner.

The inner door opened and one of the biggest men Danny had ever seen filled the doorway. The man shook Sgt. Sandhu's hand.

“Nice to see you, Rajiv.”

Sgt. Sandhu gestured toward Danny. “This is Danny McMillan.”

“Hello Danny,” the stranger said. “I'm Phil.” Danny replied with a grunt and didn't rise from his chair.

“Please come in, Danny. Your mom's already here.” Phil turned and led the way.

Danny heard voices coming from a nearby office – his mother's and another woman's. “I can't believe I got that drunk,” his mom said.

“Don't be too hard on yourself,” the woman replied. “It's been a bad time. It could have happened to anybody.”

“But Danny and Jen
saw
me like that; they're going to think they can't trust me to take care of them.”

“It was just an error in judgment.”

“I know that, but –”

Phil noticed Danny listening and hustled him into another office. He turned toward Danny. His muscular arms bulged from his golf shirt. He had a bristly buzz cut and a long, thin scar stretching from the side of his nose right across his cheek. He looked like a marine or a heavyweight boxer. Who
was
he?

“Danny, let me tell you a little bit about why you're here, and then you can ask questions, okay?” Phil said, taking a seat behind a desk.

Danny shrugged and dropped into a chair, trying to look unconcerned, even though his head throbbed. He pushed up the bill of his baseball cap and looked straight at Phil, then crossed his arms. Sgt. Sandhu took the chair beside him.

Framed diplomas hung behind the desk – a Bachelor of Criminology from McGill University, a Twenty Year Service Award from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

“I used to be an RCMP officer,” Phil said. “I worked for twenty years in and around Montreal. I was involved mainly with fighting organized crime – biker gangs. They owned the drug, prostitution, and illegal gambling operations in Quebec. Sometimes, we'd get inside information from an informant who'd help us. These gangs were bad – powerful, violent, and cruel. If they found out who ratted on them, that person and his family were as good as dead.”

Danny kept his arms crossed, but Phil had his attention.

“Sometimes…sometimes people need more protection than the normal justice system can give. We offered the informants witness protection. We'd hide them in safe houses 'till they'd testified in court, and then…well, then we'd give them new identities and relocate them.”

The word
relocate
echoed in Danny's head –
we're going to
have to move.

“I worked with a psychologist – Dr. Sung – in the Witness Protection Program. We'd help these people and their families start new lives.”

“So what's all that got to do with me?”

“A couple of years ago we had a case where the informer was a hit man for one of the biker gangs – and he regularly beat his wife. Badly. Dr. Sung and I had two problems. We had to protect him and his family from the biker gang,
and
we had to protect her from her husband.” Phil paused. “First we gave them all new identities and relocated the whole family. Then we gave the wife and children a second set of new identities, and moved them, so the husband couldn't find them.

“This made Dr. Sung and I realize that sometimes when things are really bad at home, the regular system can't fix the problems. So, when I retired from the RCMP, Dr. Sung and I moved here to start a program called NIVA – New Identities for Victims of Abuse.” Phil clasped his hands and leaned forward. “There's no easy way to say this, so I'll just say it. In the next few days, your whole life is going to change. It's going to be a bigger change than you ever dreamed of – and you're not going to like it.”