Presumed Guilty, page 5
She came to Dallas and gave her a hug. “Dallas, how are you? It’s been a zoo here.”
Dallas was glad Lisa was here. Though twenty years younger than Dallas, Lisa was a true friend. And a remarkable woman. Charismatic, and a perfect complement to her husband, Bob, Hillside’s associate minister. This couple was going places, just like Dallas and Ron when they’d first come to Hillside.
Which was why Dallas always felt that Lisa could understand her own problems better than anyone else. Nothing like being a minister’s wife to give you laser-sharp insights into life, the universe, and everything.
“My head is spinning,” Dallas said. “I had to come up here to figure out what we should be doing for the church.”
“Good,” Lisa said. “Bob’s been working on that. He’ll want to see you, I’m sure. Come on.”
As she walked with Dallas toward Bob Benson’s office, Lisa said, “When the dust settles a little bit, let’s get together and do something, huh? Just you and me.”
“That sounds good.”
Lisa rapped on her husband’s office door, then opened it.
“Come in,” Bob Benson said. Lisa kissed Dallas on the cheek and closed the door behind her.
The young associate stood and welcomed her into his extremely neat and orderly office. He was, as he had always been to her and Ron, impressive. Only twenty-seven, he was clearly a gifted minister. Educated, witty, and above all, able to communicate.
When they were settled, Bob asked how Dallas was.
“Not real good,” she said. “News trucks outside my house. I’m under a microscope.”
“We all are, I’m afraid.” Bob wore his brown hair in an understated spiky style, just haphazard enough to give him credibility with the younger crowd. But he could preach a great sermon to all age groups.
“We’ve got to get a message out to our people,” Dallas said.
“Already being done.”
That surprised her. “How?”
“I drafted a statement for the website. And I’m working on one for the media.”
“Can I see it?”
“I’m still tweaking.”
“What about Sunday? Who’s — ”
“Dallas, don’t worry. These are things you shouldn’t have to stress over, okay?”
“It’s Ron’s church! Of course I’m going to stress.”
The moment she said it she realized how desperate she must have sounded. Hillside was not Ron’s church, even if he was the senior pastor who had overseen its growth. It was God’s church.
Bob kept his voice calm. “I don’t want you to worry, because things are being looked after. I’ve got an Easter sermon ready for Sunday, then I’ll continue to preach the same sermon series Ron was on. That way there’ll be a feeling, at least a little bit, of continuity. But I plan to address the issue full-on in all our services.”
“Some great Easter, huh?”
“I’ll be careful, Dallas. You know, ‘You’ve all read about this tragedy in the paper, or seen it on the news — ’ ”
“It’s not a tragedy, Bob. It’s a mistake.”
Bob picked up a notepad and moved it to the opposite side of his desk. “Yes, of course. And I’ll mention that we do still have something called the presumption of innocence. And I’ll call on everyone to pray for the church.”
“And Ron.”
“That’s a given.”
“I’d like to be part of the planning too,” Dallas said. “Decisions will have to be made affecting the church.”
“Sure. I’ll keep you in the loop.”
“When can we talk?”
Bob looked at his watch.
Bob looked at his watch. “I have to leave tonight. I’m speaking at a conference the next couple of days.”
“That’s right, something about reaching Gen Yers?”
“Right. But I’ll be back late Saturday.”
“What are we going to do about the media out there?”
Bob spun around in his chair and looked out the window. “I’m going to go out and deliver my statement.”
“May I see it?”
“Like I said, I’m still working on it.”
“May I see what you have so far?”
Bob hesitated just long enough to make Dallas uncomfortable.
Dallas chalked it up to anxiety, hers and his. They’d all have to pull together and heap mounds of grace on each other.
Bob took a paper from the printer on his credenza and handed it to her.
As associate minister of Hillside Community Church, I have had the privilege of working alongside Ron Hamilton for three years. During that time I have come to know him as both a friend and a boss, as a brother in Christ, and as a fellow worker in this community. We are holding him up in prayer and trust that the media will remember the most important principle of our justice system: that a man is presumed innocent until proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. We also would ask the media to respect the privacy rights of the worshipers here at Hillside, and not to interfere with our operations. Thank you.
She set the paper on Bob’s desk.
“You look disappointed,” he said.
“No, Bob. It’s good. It’s just . . .”
“You would have preferred an outright statement that we know Ron is innocent?”
She nodded, impressed by the young minister’s insight.
“That was my first instinct, until I thought how that would look to the media. Naturally they’ve heard all that before, the protestations of innocence from family members. And we are Ron’s family, right? In my mind, that would only make them dig in deeper. But by putting it out there as objectively as possible, by saying what the law says, that Ron’s innocent until proven guilty, we show we’re being as objective as the law. I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong, but I had to consider Hillside’s reputation.”
Dallas sensed his defensiveness. She reached over the desk and put a hand on his arm. “Thanks, Bob. I know you have the welfare of the church, and Ron, at the top of your thoughts.”
“And you, Dallas. Lisa and I want you to remember you can count on us for anything.”
“I know.”
“And I’d like to do something right now. I’d like to pray with you, Dallas. Will you join me in that?”
10.
Back home again, Dallas felt like her head was finally emerging above the waters of adversity. She was able to look around, think a little bit, and remember that she had duties to people that didn’t go away because Ron was in jail.
She called Haven House and spoke to Danielle, her assistant there. “Have you been able to place Tiana and Jamaal yet?”
“No luck,” Danielle said. “She said she’s going back to her boyfriend.”
“No! Don’t let her do that.”
“What can I do? She’s getting ready to go.”
“Let me talk to her.”
“She hasn’t come down
“She hasn’t come down yet.”
“I’ll wait.”
As she did, she peeked out the front-door sidelights at the persistent news crews. There were only a couple of diehards left. They’d rushed her as she pulled into her garage. She let the door down fast hoping it would clonk one of them on the head.
This would soon be over. Jeff Waite was going to get to the bottom of things. Ron was innocent, and when they found out, there would be egg on the face of all the major news outlets. She would demand some apologies. She was starting to get really ticked off at the smug looks.
Didn’t these people know about the presumption of innocence? Of course they did, but it didn’t matter, because sex sells papers and advertising. Who was going to let a little thing like the truth, or legal rights, get in the way?
Tiana’s voice interrupted her bitter musings. “Yeah?”
“Tiana, this is Dallas Hamilton.”
“I know.”
“Danielle said you’re about to leave.”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t do it. You can’t. He’ll only beat you up again.”
“Don’t worry anymore about me.”
“Tiana, listen to me, Jamaal could be beaten up too. For his sake, don’t go back there.”
“I’ve got nowhere else!” Tiana’s voice was rife with anger and desperation.
“You could come here.”
“Huh?”
“Come stay with me. Just for a while, till we figure out what to do. You can stay in my daughter’s room. Jamaal can have my son’s room.”
“His own room?”
“That’s right.”
“Why?”
“Why what, Tiana?”
“Why are you opening up your own house?”
“I do sometimes. Please let me come get you and Jamaal. At least for a couple of days. Will you do that?”
Long pause. “Okay.”
“Thank you. I’ll be down there by three.”
She hoped Tiana would still be there. Women in Tiana’s situation could change their minds on a whim, so fragile were their psyches.
Now all she had to do was get the house in order. Good. Nothing like some old-fashioned housework to get occupied with something other than the things she had no control over.
She started with the family room and was about to go upstairs when a pounding at the back door, off the kitchen, startled her. Her heart spiked. She was certain it was a reporter.
Another knock at the door.
She thought about calling 911. But then, like a convict in an old prison movie, Dallas put her back to the wall and moved to a place where she could glimpse the door.
She saw the top half of a head over the curtain on the kitchen door.
And nearly jumped out of her skin.
11.
“Jared!”
She threw open the door.
“Hey, Mom.”
Dallas threw her arms around his neck, kissed his cheek, held her face against his.
Jared said nothing. He felt rigid in her arms. She stood back and looked at him.
His dusky hair was still shoulder length. What was new was the goatee and a small ring above his left eyelid. He was wearing an old leather jacket, jeans, and dirty work boots spotted with white paint.
“Why didn’t you call?” Dallas shut the door behind him.
“Maybe you wouldn’t have wanted me around,” Jared said.
“What!” She embraced him again and held him close, as if he were eight years old again and had come home from school crying because some older kids had made fun of him.
Jared pulled away. “So they got cameras out there in the front yard.”
“I guess we’re the story of the month.”
“That’s why I came in the back. Don’t think anybody saw me hop the wall.”
Dallas practically pushed him into a kitchen chair.
“Where’ve you been?” She sat across from him.
“Bakersfield. Painting houses.”
“Good work?” she asked.
“Used to be.”
“What does that mean?”
He sat back in the chair. “Did he do it?”
The directness of the question and the coldness of it hit Dallas like a blow. “No, of course he didn’t do it.”
“How do you know?”
“How can you say that?”
He drummed the tabletop with his fingers. “Anybody’s capable of anything.”
“Not your father.”
“Come on, Mom. Why not Dad? He’s human, isn’t he?” His eyes, cool and aloof, seemed to catch a vision. “We can do bad things — ”
“But not what they’re accusing him of. I know he couldn’t have done that.”
“Did you know this girl?”
“No, she was someone your father was counseling. She had a troubled background. Anybody could have killed her.”
“Right. Anybody but Dad.”
Dallas looked at her son and hardly knew him. She supposed she hadn’t known him since he returned from Iraq, but now he seemed even farther away.
“Listen to me, Jared. Carefully. I’ve seen your dad, looked in his eyes. He’s confused and scared. He tried to help a girl in trouble, that’s all, and then he wakes up accused of a horrible crime. And now he’s in a jail cell and everyone is writing about him as a criminal. He’s been convicted in the papers, the tabloids, and with oh-so-much glee. Can’t you give him the benefit of the doubt?”
“When did he ever do that for me?” Jared stood up, almost knocking his chair over. He turned his back on her. She felt the onrush of bad memories from the many times Jared and Ron fought and screamed at each other.
Suddenly Jared laughed. It was a short, disturbing chuckle. He faced her. “It’s funny. I remember a sermon Dad did once, about going through trials. I remember he said that sometimes God hits a Chris tian with suffering in order to get his attention, if he’s been sinning. And so that’s how suffering can be a good thing, la-di-da. I remember that, Mom, because it scared the juice out of me. Because I knew what a rotten kid I was and — ”
“Jared — ”
“Listen! I knew what a screwed-up case I was, so I was just getting ready to get hit with it, get God’s freaking wrath poured all over me. Well, I’m over that now. Whatever this world is about, it’s about getting garbage all over you. So maybe Dad was off doing something he shouldn’t have, and now he can say God’s getting his attention.”
Jared sat down again, looking halfway conciliatory. “Look, Mom. I don’t know what I’m talking about. Forget it. If you saw Dad and don’t think he did it, that’s good enough for me. I just don’t want to see you hurt, you know? That’s the only reason I’m here. It’s not because of him. It’s because of you.”
“Will you see him?” Dallas said.
“No.”
“He’s still your father.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Stop it!” Dallas stood up. “I know you’re hurt, Jared, and I know you’ve been through an ordeal. But don’t disrespect your father. He doesn’t deserve that.”
“Relax, Mom, I’m not going to — ”
“Do you understand me?”
Jared looked away from her. “I’m not a little kid, Mom.”
But he was her kid, no matter what. Dallas embraced him again.
He said nothing but at least made no move to break away from her.
“Do you have to go back to Bakersfield?” she said. “Can you stay?”
“I sort of lost my job up there,” Jared said. “You know, if I ran a mortuary, nobody would die.”
“Jared — ”
“So if you have any painting needs, I’ll swap you for a bed.”
“You don’t need to swap anything,” Dallas said. “This is home. Remember? The peas in the pot?”
When he was little, maybe five, he heard the expression just like two peas in a pod and somehow got it in his mind that the four of them — him, his mom and dad and sister, Cara — were four peas in a pot. He kept saying it that way, until the family adopted it.
Jared closed his eyes and nodded.
“All right then,” Dallas said. “Let me get you something to eat.”
12.
It’s the silence that kills.
The theory of the penitentiary was that it would be a place of penitence. Stick a man in a cage and make him think about his black soul.
It works.
Of course, many of those held in isolation in the old days went crazy.
It’s the silence that kills.
They built this jail back in the sixties. It’s a big concrete block. Inside, a labyrinth of corridors, rows of cells, and metal gates. Garbage bags and sheets hang from cell doors to keep inquiring eyes from looking in. Shouts, curses, and clanging doors echo through the facility, which is penetrated here and there by a few shafts of sunlight.
But the silence remains for the celebrity inmates, like me. And in the silence, faces haunt you.
Faces. I see the faces of those I love.
Cara. My lovely daughter. She came to see me today and cried and I couldn’t hold her. So I see her face now, wet with tears even as she told me she loved me, and the vision torments me.
Jared. Wherever he is. His face is troubled, and so it troubles me.
Dallas. I see her face all the time. I can’t reach out to it; it just hovers over me. Hurt look. Accusing eyes. She tries to hide them. Can’t.
Yet these are not the only faces I see.
Melinda.
Even since her death, I see her face. It screams at me.
Like a demon.
FOUR
1.
At least he was doing something other than wallowing in self-disgust. Still, Jared felt stupid behind the wheel of his mother’s SUV. He was not a soccer mom. But he was, for the moment, a delivery service.
Delivering people, one of them to his own bed.
His mother — cleverly now, he realized, to get him moving — had asked him to pick up this woman and her kid and bring them home.
Now this was going to be strange. Here was a woman with a face that had been through things. Her kid, only six. Jared thought of all the children he’d watched in the park. That crack in his heart that ached for them throbbed again now. What chance did a kid like this have with a father who beat up on his mom? What chance did any kid have these days?
On the way to the house, the woman named Tiana said, “Your mom’s a good person.”
“Yeah.”
“I mean, she didn’t have to do this.”
“That’s my mom. Always taking in stray . . . looking out for people.” He wondered what Tiana’s boyfriend was like, and why a girl stayed with somebody who slapped her around. He’d been with women. He didn’t quite get them.
“You were in the Marines?” she said.
“My mom tell you about me?”
“A little. Jamaal wants to be in the Marines.”
The boy was belted in the backseat. A six-year-old wanting to be in the Marines. How quaint.
“Tell him to go into football instead,” Jared said.
“Mama, is he in the Marines?” The boy’s voice was tissue-paper thin.
“Yeah, baby.”
“In war?”
Tiana asked Jared, “You been in war?”
“Can it, will you?” Jared snapped, though pulling the punch a little. “Tell me how come you stay with a guy who knocks you around.”
