Friction, page 23
“Like Judge Judy?”
He smiled and shook his head. “Nothing like Judge Judy.”
He stopped the slow spinning so she could join them on the merry-go-round. As she sat down next to him, she said under her breath, “I got you five minutes.” Then, “You must be Georgia. I’m Holly.”
She extended her hand. Timidly, Georgia shook it.
Crawford whispered near her ear. “What do you say?”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, too. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“You have?”
“Is it true that pink is your favorite color?”
Georgia’s initial shyness evaporated. Having someone new to talk with unleashed an unbroken stream of conversation. “Do you like the slide or the swings the best?” she asked Holly.
“Oh, the swings by far.”
“Me too. I like to go high. Daddy pushes me high, but I have to hold on real tight, so I won’t fly out like he did when he was little and knock out a tooth that wasn’t even loose. Show her, Daddy.”
He complied, pointing out one of his lower front teeth to Holly. For Georgia’s benefit, she inspected it solemnly. “That must have hurt.”
“It was a baby tooth,” Georgia informed her. “So one grew in its place, but you still gotta hold on tight to the ropes.”
“I’ll make sure I do.”
They let Georgia direct the conversation, and it was as flitting as a butterfly. Holly subtly nudged his elbow when their time ran out. The five minutes had passed far too quickly.
For Georgia, too. She didn’t take it well when he told her that it was time for them to leave. “Can we go get ice cream?”
“Not today, sweetheart.”
“Please. Holly can come, too. Won’t you, Holly?”
“I would love to, but I can’t today. Maybe some other time.”
Georgia was so disappointed, Crawford was afraid her whining would turn into crying, and, after today’s events, if he saw a single tear, he would never be able to let her go. Lifting her off his lap, he stood her up behind his back. “Climb on. I’ll carry you.”
Riding on his shoulders was always a treat. She gripped handfuls of his hair as he walked in an exaggerated stagger back to the parking area. She was giggling when he swung her down. Kneeling in front of her, he ran his hands over her arms as though to convince himself yet again that she was safe and sound. “Be a good girl.”
“I will.”
He couldn’t tell her when he would call, or when he would see her next, because he didn’t know when it would be. He never made her a promise he couldn’t keep. “Give me a kiss.”
She bussed him on the mouth, then he clutched her to him for as long as he dared before releasing her. “Go on now. Grandma and Grandpa are waiting.”
“You’re quiet tonight. What’s the matter?”
Grace looked across the dinner table at her husband, then got up and carried her barely touched plate to the sink. “Just thinking.”
“About that business at the park? I could tell it upset you.”
“Georgia was so unhappy when we left.”
“She was fine until she saw him. Making people unhappy is his specialty.”
Grace turned away and began loading the dishwasher. “I don’t believe Judge Spencer would have intervened on his behalf if she’d thought Georgia would suffer any ill effects.”
“I think something shifty is going on between the two of them.”
Grace paused what she was doing and looked at him over her shoulder. “Shifty?”
“She went on TV and made him out to be a hero. Hours later she recused herself from his case. I think her objectivity has been compromised, all right, but not strictly because he saved her life.”
“You think there’s an attraction?”
“I hope the judge has better sense.”
“Our daughter didn’t.”
He scowled. “Beth couldn’t see past his appearance. But he showed his true colors today. By the time the rest of you saw him at the park, he had calmed down. When he arrived, he was rabid. Completely unhinged.”
“In his place, wouldn’t you have been?” Grace asked. “If you’d been sent a photograph or video of Beth with a caption like that, wouldn’t you have been completely unhinged until you knew she was safe?”
“It’s not the same.”
“How is it different?”
“I wouldn’t have attacked the first person I saw.”
Speaking under her breath, Grace said, “That’s another thing.”
“Pardon?”
She flung down her dishcloth and turned to him. “All these years we’ve known Crawford, the dislike between you two has been there from the get-go. You’ve had arguments, running arguments that lasted for months. Not once,” she said, holding up her index finger, “has a disagreement resulted in a fistfight.”
Joe left the table and joined her at the sink. “What’s your point?”
“It seems awfully coincidental that the first time Crawford has ever raised a hand to you, it happened within hours of your filing that restraining order.”
“Which he validated by laying into me.”
“But he never had before. There was no reason for you to file that restraining order, Joe.”
“From where I’m standing, there was. Have you forgotten that he came here two nights ago—”
“And you exchanged words. Heated words, yes, but your shouting was just as loud as his. He didn’t threaten you with bodily harm.”
“I got the restraining order for Georgia’s protection, not mine.”
“That’s crap. Pure crap.”
“Where’s this language coming from?”
“Crawford would never harm that child. You know that. I know you know that.”
Unused to her having an angry outburst, he rocked back on his heels. “Do you want him to have Georgia, to take her away from us?”
Grace sighed. “It would break my heart to lose her.”
“Then stop defending him. We’re in this fight to win.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and carried it with him as he left the room, saying as he went, “Leave everything to me. I know what I’m doing.”
Rather than reassuring her, that’s what worried her most.
Seeking solitude after leaving the park, Crawford drove out of town to one of his favorite spots. The natural lake was located deep in the woods, reached only by a narrow dirt road that petered out shy of the lake by thirty yards, which had to be covered on foot.
The isolated spot had been his haunt for twenty years. He’d discovered it shortly after moving back from California, where he’d lived with his mother and her new husband until he turned sixteen. Then he’d insisted on returning to Texas so he could attend and graduate high school in Prentiss with his original classmates and friends.
His mother and stepfather had put up very little resistance to the idea. He figured they were as glad to get rid of his churlish self as he was to go.
His mother’s sister had taken him in—because by then Conrad was well established as the town drunk, incapable of caring for himself, much less a teenager. As a means of trying to make up for her sister’s neglect, his single, childless aunt had lavished him with attention and affection until the day she died. By then he was an adult and appreciative of her kindness. But while living with her, he had daily tested the good-hearted lady’s patience by being not at all lovable. Along with typical teenage angst, he carried an additional chip on his shoulder. (The size of Rushmore, according to Holly.)
Because of his bad attitude, it had taken time to reestablish himself with his classmates, form new alliances, and acclimate to small-town life. Even after being accepted into the popular crowd, he remained defensive, rebellious, and angry.
On days when his mood turned particularly dark, he escaped to this spot and whiled away hours skipping stones, taking out his nameless frustration on the mirror surface of the lake. One day he threw rocks until his arm gave out from exhaustion. Sitting down on the muddy shoreline, he placed his head on his bent knees, and wept.
By the time he had cried himself out, he realized that he wasn’t angry at his aunt’s claustrophobic house and her cloying affection. It wasn’t his friends or coaches or schoolwork causing him to be persistently aggravated and annoyed.
He was angry at his parents.
Each had exed him off their to-do list, and they’d done so in permanent ink. His mother had her life, and it didn’t include him. His father had no life beyond his next drink. Crawford couldn’t fix or change the circumstances. This was a done deal. This was the hand he’d been dealt, and it was up to him how he played it.
He hadn’t buried his anger in the thick mud that day and left it there, forever forgotten. After all, real life wasn’t a fairy tale. His anger remained with him, as indelible as his palm print. But he had chosen and resolved that day not to let it destroy him.
The only time he’d violated that resolve was after Beth died, and he was still suffering the consequences of that lapse. He wouldn’t let it happen again.
He drove back to town and went straight to the courthouse, more determined than ever to get justice for Chet, even for Jorge Rodriguez, who also was a victim of a tragic chain of events perpetrated by someone.
Crawford wanted that someone. He wanted him bad.
Neal was seated at his desk. He looked up, saw Crawford, and said, “I suppose you got my voice mail.”
“No.” He sat down across from the detective. “What did it say?”
“I asked you to come in as soon as possible.”
“Sorry. I haven’t checked my phone for a while. Something come from the interviews?”
“Nothing.”
“How many more to go?”
“Done. Finished this afternoon.”
“No red flags?”
“Nope. All were folks as honest as the day is long.”
“Except the one who gunned down Chet.”
Neal looked chagrined, but didn’t say anything.
Crawford waited, then casually asked, “How’s your kid doing?”
Neal gave him a blank look, then, “Oh, he’s fine. Summer bug. Nothing serious.”
“Hmm.”
“You left the park in a hurry,” Neal said.
After sending Georgia to rejoin her grandparents, he had walked to his SUV, climbed in, and, without explaining himself or saying a word to anyone, he drove away. He raised one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “You didn’t shoot me. Nobody cuffed me, so I left. That video of Georgia scared the hell out of me. I needed some downtime.”
“Where’d you go?”
“My secret. Did the deputies turn up anything in the woods around the park?”
“No.”
Crawford hadn’t expected them to. “Lots of trees and brush to hide behind. Whoever shot the video could have come and gone without Grace and Joe seeing him.”
“Any idea who that might be?”
“If I knew, he’d be in the hospital. Or a coffin.”
“Comforting thought.”
“True, though. And it brings me to something I want to bounce off you.”
Crawford sat forward and propped his elbows on his thighs, tapping his chin with his thumb knuckles as he tried to put his thoughts into words, words that wouldn’t cause Neal to nix them just to be contrary.
“Our case is stalled, Neal. Something you said this morning has stuck with me. We’re digging in the wrong place. I’ve been thinking. Since the shooting, so many things have—”
“You’re off the case.”
Crawford went perfectly still as he met the other man’s implacable gaze.
“That’s why I called you to come in,” Neal said. “I needed to tell you. It’s effective immediately.”
Moving slowly, Crawford sat up straight. “When did this come about?”
Neal shook his head as though the timing of the decision didn’t matter. “You shouldn’t have been involved in an investigation in which you’re a material witness. The chief realizes that now. He’s going to talk to your superiors and explain that it was only as a courtesy to Mrs. Barker—”
“Who’s still a widow without closure. So why don’t you want me involved?”
“I just told you.”
“Rhetoric. What’s really going on, Neal?”
“I’m not compelled to explain the decision.”
“Not compelled. Translated, that means you don’t have the balls to tell me to my face. You’d rather be sneaky, put someone on my tail to take pictures.”
Neal cursed under his breath. “Nugent.”
“Don’t blame the kid. I didn’t give him a choice. Whose nephew is he, anyway?”
“One of the county commissioners,” Neal mumbled.
Crawford laughed without mirth. “I was asking facetiously. Nugent should get out now. He’s not cut out for this line of work.” He paused for a beat. “Why’d you have me tailed?”
Neal didn’t respond.
“Sorry to disappoint,” Crawford said. “You didn’t get any pictures of me doing incriminating stuff, did you?”
“I didn’t get any pictures of a vandal breaking into your house, either.”
Crawford just looked at him, then burst out laughing. “You think I trashed Georgia’s bedroom after spending two weeks’ paycheck and lots of time getting it ready for her? Why would I do that?”
“You don’t need a reason to go on a rampage. You’ve got a short fuse. You react without thinking. You can’t control your impulses or violent tendencies, as evidenced today at the park.”
Crawford would be damned before defending a reaction that was in perfect keeping with the scare he’d received. Instead he went on the offensive. “You know, Neal, if you’re going to lie, learn not to get trapped in it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That phone call today wasn’t from your wife, and it wasn’t about a kid throwing up. Who kept you on the phone for that long, very engrossed?”
Neal’s face turned red, but rather than answer, he asked, “What did you really say to Rodriguez up on that roof?”
“You’re still hung up on that?”
“It’s a pretty damned important ‘that.’”
“My vindictive son of a bitch of a father-in-law planted an idea in your head, and you seized on it.”
“Answer the question.”
“Should I call Bill Moore?”
“I don’t know, should you?”
“You and I don’t like each other. Never did and never will. Put that aside for a minute. Do you honestly think that I had something to do with the shooting?”
“What were you doing last night in Judge Spencer’s chambers? An officer came to me this morning and reported seeing you storm out.”
Crawford said nothing.
“She left a few minutes after you, and the officer described her as looking ‘shaken to the core.’”
Neal didn’t mention having pictures of them together, which was a relief. “Anything else?” he asked mildly.
“You made a big deal about a bruised knee. Who else but you says the gunman was kicked in the knee?”
“More still?”
“Lots more. You remain the only person who claims Rodriguez wasn’t the shooter.”
“If I was behind it, wouldn’t I want everyone to believe that he was the shooter, seeing as how he’s dead and can’t deny it?”
“You would, unless…”
Crawford cocked his head as though to better hear the part that Neal had left dangling. “Unless?”
“Unless a connection could be drawn between you and Rodriguez.”
“No such connection exists.”
One corner of Neal’s mouth twitched into a half smile. “I fibbed to you about that phone call because it was Chuck Otterman who called me. He said if you were around, I should pretend to be talking to someone else. He said no doubt I had noticed his surprised reaction to seeing Rodriguez’s corpse. I admitted I had noticed. He was calling to explain why he reacted the way he had.”
“The tension mounts.”
Neal didn’t acknowledge that. “Although Otterman didn’t know Rodriguez by name, he recognized him on sight.”
Crawford snapped his fingers. “They were at side-by-side urinals.”
Neal continued unflappably. “On or around one forty p.m. Monday afternoon, Otterman arrived for his appointment at the DA’s office. As he was going in, he saw Rodriguez on the courthouse parking lot.” He paused, took a breath. “Talking to you.”
Chapter 22
Two policemen in a squad car followed Holly home from the courthouse. She pulled her car around to the back of the cottage where she parked and got out. One of the policemen saw her safely inside, then returned to his car out front.
The moment Holly locked herself in, she shed her professional reserve and composure along with her suit jacket and high heels. She’d been keeping up appearances all day. Now, she gave over to her fatigue and despondency.
Greg Sanders’s foretelling that she would “mess up” seemed disturbingly close to coming true.
Before leaving her office, she had received a reply email from Governor Hutchins. The best thing she could say about its content was that it was noncommittal. He neither commended nor chastened her for recusing herself from Crawford’s custody case, saying only that, even though he was away, he’d been kept apprised of the ongoing investigation into the shooting and that upon his return from the conference, he wanted to discuss certain aspects of it with her.
The ambiguous tone of the email worried her. If he was second-guessing appointing her to the bench, if he withdrew his support, it would be disastrous for her professionally, and even more crushing from a personal standpoint. She would have failed to live up to Judge Waters’s expectations. She would have failed to meet her own.
The troublesome email had come on the heels of the incident in the park where she’d had the devil’s own time negotiating those five minutes for Crawford.
“There’s no question that this is in violation of the restraining order, Mr. Gilroy. He was very wrong to attack you. But look at them.” She’d gestured toward the merry-go-round where Crawford and his daughter seemed to be discussing the sequin appliqué on her top. “Think how traumatic it would be for her to see him arrested and taken away.”
