From the Ashes, page 18
“I’m here.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, are you?” she answered while he asked, “You’re sure?”
“Yes,” she repeated, her voice closer.
“That shot didn’t hit you?”
“No.”
“Then where is all this blood coming from?”
He became aware of sirens in the background growing louder until the sound of them reverberated in his ears.
“Oh, no,” Angela said, suddenly next to him. “It’s Tommy. And I can’t find a pulse.”
Silence and a blank emptiness filled Brian’s head. He couldn’t have killed a man. He couldn’t have.
Then, an authoritative voice said, “Step away, and put your hands behind your head.”
The hours after that formed into a blur. Brian was separated from Angela, as he was handcuffed and put into the backseat of a police car. After sitting in the dark for what seemed like hours, he was driven to the police station. On the way, he kept asking about Angela, and the officers told him that she was being taken to the county jail. At the station, he was guided into the booking area where he emptied his pockets and gave them his belt, through the booking process where he learned there were no charges against him. That would have been a relief if he had been able to find out any information about Angela.
Several hours later, his attorney, Gil York, picked him up.
“What can you tell me about Angela?” Brian wanted to know as they got into Gil’s car.
“You should be asking what happened to Tommy,” Gil told him.
“Okay, I’ll ask, but I don’t care.”
“He’s dead,” Gil said flatly. “And your friend Angela is being held on suspicion of murder.”
“She didn’t touch the gun,” Brian insisted.
“That might be relevant if he’d died of a gunshot wound. We won’t know for sure until after the autopsy, but they think he had a heart attack caused by a cocaine overdose.”
“What does that have to do with Angela?”
“There’s a lot of evidence to suggest they were peddling drugs together, and that Manderoll was his own best customer. Likely, she’s an addict, too.”
“No,” Brian said. “She’s not.”
“And, given her history, my strong advice is to distance yourself from her. She’ll bury you and your foundation.”
Though it had been years since the last time she’d been booked, Angela remembered the process when she was delivered to the county jail.
She was allowed to make her phone call. Since it was the middle of the night and since she didn’t remember any phone number except Maisey’s, she finally settled on leaving Maisey a message on the Guardian Paws answering machine, requesting that she call Micah McLeod and let him know what had happened.
After Angela was placed in the holding cell, she sank down on the metal frame of the bed, staring at the bloodstains on her sweatpants and sweatshirt. She still couldn’t believe that Tommy was dead.
She leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes, remembering that she had reaped what she had sown. Still, she hadn’t expected this, to end up back in jail.
“You’re still here,” an officer said to her sometime later. “I would have thought someone would have come to bail you out by now.”
Angela looked at the clock behind the officer and saw that the time was after six. If she were lucky, she’d have only a few more hours before Maisey got her message and put into motion the wheels that would get her out of here.
“We’re going to have to transfer you to the jail, you know.”
“I know,” she replied.
“You made the front page,” the officer said, holding up a newspaper.
The bold headline above Andrew Brogg’s byline read The Felon and the Football Player.
EIGHTEEN
“‘The facts about Angela London that we know for sure are these,’” Gramps read from the morning newspaper, sitting across the table from Brian, who was sick with worry for Angela. “‘She served time for charges that she pled guilty to related to money laundering and drug trafficking. Her admitted associate for those illegal activities is Thomas J. Manderoll, who was on probation for related charges. Mr. Manderoll suffered a fatal heart attack last night, and the preliminary report from the coroner indicates that it was a result of a cocaine overdose. When Ms. London was released from prison, she’d found a new calling, the training of service dogs. Her current employer is a nonprofit organization, Guardian Paws, which is dependent upon grants and donations.
“‘What we know for sure about Brian Ramsey, retired quarterback for the Patriots, is that he abused anabolic steroids by his own admission. Now that he is retired, Mr. Ramsey’s focus is on the work done by his foundation, the Beanstalk Gang, which provides after-school programs for kids throughout the Denver area. We also know that Val Fitzwater, who is currently serving time for drug trafficking, has sworn under oath that Mr. Ramsey was not only a customer, but a dealer, a charge that he denies. Mr. Ramsey says he has lost his sight, and he recently provided medical affidavits to that effect at a recent news conference. He allegedly met Ms. London when he began his search for a guide dog. And we know that Mr. Manderoll filed a complaint against Mr. Ramsey for assault a couple of weeks ago.
“‘We also know for sure that a minor who has been active with programs at the Beanstalk Gang was recently arrested for allegedly selling drugs to a Denver undercover officer.’” Gramps paused and cleared his throat. “Are you sure you want me to read this whole thing?”
“Every word,” Brian assured him. This was nearly as bad as his inability to secure Angela’s release, since bail hadn’t been set yet.
Nonnie patted his shoulder. “I filled your coffee back up.”
“Thanks,” Brian told her, then said to his grandfather. “Please read.”
Gramps continued to read. The article skewed facts into innuendo that was so farfetched Brian didn’t understand how it could have been approved. Brogg made allegations about criminal activity that included wild suppositions linking the Beanstalk Gang and Guardian Paws. Not only was the article fiction, it was slander.
Gramps read, “‘The final straw came when Ramsey went to Ms. London’s home to pick up money that had been promised to him, money that he owed his Colombian suppliers. What we know for sure is that he had an altercation with Mr. Ramsey at Ms. London’s home and that during that altercation, Mr. Manderoll died. What we know for sure is that Mr. Ramsey has been released without any charges being filed against him, once again proving that professional athletes are treated with kid gloves when others in the same situation would be charged with a crime. And we know that as of this writing, Ms. London remains in the county jail with charges pending.’”
“I’ve heard enough,” Brian said, pushing away from the table and stalking out of the kitchen. He headed down the stairs to the weight room, but when he arrived there he simply stood in front of the window where he knew a view of Mount Evans loomed in the distance.
“You okay, Brian?” Sam asked.
Brian could hear the rhythmic sound of the Bowflex machine as Sam went through his routine.
“I’d like to tell you that I’m good,” Brian said, “but the truth is that I’m not. The truth…everything has come unraveled, and at the moment I don’t have a clue how to put it back together.”
The repetitious sound stopped. Brian listened to footfalls come across the room and knew that Sam had come to a stop in front of the window next to him.
“Is this a question of what to do? Or a question of faith?” he asked.
“A little of both.”
“You know how it is when the coaches are working on a new play. You plot it out, mentally rehearse it, and then do it.”
“Yep,” Brian agreed. “You’re getting to prayer again.”
“I am,” Sam said.
“If I just knew where to begin…”
Sam slapped him on the back. “I’m going to go take a shower, and then I’ll be ready to take you wherever you decide to go.”
“You’re sure we’re going somewhere?”
“Oh, yeah. We’ve got a dog to pick up.”
Brian had forgotten about the cocker spaniel. He remained standing in front of the window after Sam left. Silently, he began to pray, asking for guidance—to help clear Angela’s name, to help her be free of her part once and for all. His eyes closed, he stood there in the silence, listening to the occasional call of a blue jay beyond the window. A feeling of peace came over him that he hadn’t expected, a presence so profound he felt tears gather in his eyes.
So this is it, he thought, remembering Angela’s calm serenity, and for the first time feeling this for himself. “Thank you, Lord, for this moment,” he whispered.
He stood there a while longer, using the techniques he’d learned years ago to center his mind and let it empty of everything, knowing that he’d have clarity when he was finished.
A half hour later, he did, along with an idea of what to do. He pulled out his cell phone, calling first his manager, then his attorney, then Micah McLeod. They had work to do, and he had a Christmas present for Angela that was more important than the cocker spaniel.
When Angela walked out of the county jail shortly after noon, Maisey, Rachel, Reverend Chester and Micah were waiting for her. She had hoped Maisey would be there, but to find all the people she most cared for waiting—that was something she’d never forget. Grateful beyond words, she was moved to tears. The only person who wasn’t there was Brian, but she didn’t expect to see him. Not today—perhaps not ever again.
As if sensing she needed someone to lean on, Reverend Chester put his arms around her. “You’re going to be just fine.”
“You can’t go home,” Micah told her when Reverend Chester let her go. “Your house is a crime scene.”
“So you’re coming home with us,” Rachel said.
“Why are you doing this?” Angela asked. “Surely you’ve read the paper, and so you know—”
“That it’s a bunch of hogwash,” Maisey said, looping an arm through Angela’s. “You can’t know how sorry I am that I ever thought that Andrew Brogg person was a nice young man.”
“And, thanks to his article, he’s got some questions to answer,” Micah said, guiding them toward the car. “He’s been asked to come into the office this afternoon.”
“You’re not questioning him?”
Micah shook his head. “No. Not since I’m personally involved.”
“You don’t have to look so bewildered,” Rachel said. “Surely you know by now that you’re family.”
Angela looked back at the woman who had been her best friend for most of her life, a person with huge reasons to hate her.
Rachel smiled. “The kids will be thrilled to have you stay with us.”
“And you?”
“Especially me. It’s been too long.” She hooked her arm through Angela’s. “Though I’m not sure I want to stay up all night and giggle about boys like we used to do.”
They began walking toward the car, Angela surrounded by friends. By the only family she’d ever really had. You’re too hard on yourself, Brian had told her. It’s time you forgive yourself, Reverend Chester had said. Did she dare? She closed her eyes a moment, testing what that might feel like, and it was as though she had been hiding within the shadows and just now dared to step into the sunshine.
Despite the problems facing Guardian Paws as a result of Andrew’s article, Angela knew she wanted the sunshine.
“We’ve got some shopping to do,” Rachel said. “You can’t spend Christmas week in your sweatpants.”
“I have my credit card all warmed up,” Maisey said.
Too full of joy and gratitude to express it, Angela looked from Rachel to Maisey. “We’re ruined…again, I might add, so you might want to hold on to your cash.”
“Not this time,” Micah said. “Have a little faith. You haven’t done anything wrong, and if I have anything to say about it, Andrew Brogg will be revealed for the liar he is.”
“I rescheduled Jasper’s final testing for Monday,” Maisey said.
Angela stared at her. “I’d forgotten. And I can’t believe that.”
At Angela’s bewildered tone, Maisey laughed. “We’d noticed that you had a couple of things on your mind. And I called Brian, too. I didn’t talk to him, but his grandmother says he’s fine.”
One more thing to be thankful for, Angela thought. She was surrounded by friends, and Brian was okay. They all had a mess to deal with, but she had to believe that things would somehow work out for the best.
It was late Saturday afternoon before Angela was able to get back into her house. Someone had put plywood over the broken living room window and over the broken glass in the back door. The inside was pretty much a mess, though, between the litter left behind by the EMTs in their efforts to revive Tommy and the things that had been knocked over during Brian and Tommy’s struggle. Maisey and Rachel had both come with her, and Angela admitted she was happy she didn’t have to be alone in the house. Given the way Tommy had died, she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to live here again.
Gathering up the few things she wanted, including the Christmas presents she had purchased, they headed back to Rachel’s house.
Angela awoke very early on Sunday morning and made her way downstairs where she found the morning coffee already brewing. When she saw the newspaper on the front step, she stood in indecision a moment, remembering the searing pain she’d felt over the story published in Friday’s paper. Deciding it was unlikely anything that bad would be in today’s, she brought it inside and unfolded it on the kitchen table.
Below the fold was a headline that made her heart pound. Andrew Brogg Fired.
The article that followed had a careful wording that suggested an attorney had crafted it to minimize the possibility of any lawsuit. The gist of it was that while some of the facts that had been quoted in the article were true, most of the story was a fabrication. Talks with Andrew Brogg had revealed he had entered into negotiations with a major publisher for a tell-all book about Mr. Ramsey. The article concluded with, “Ms. London has paid her debt to society, and there is zero evidence to suggest that she has been anything other than a model citizen since her release from prison. According to her business partner, Maisey Erdmann, ‘The positive impact Angela has had on Guardian Paws cannot be overstated.’ Further, the managing editor of this newspaper stands behind the article published last November about the Beanstalk Gang and the good work being done by Mr. Ramsey through this organization.”
Stunned and once more thankful beyond words, Angela stared at the print until it blurred. This was so much more than she had dared hope for. She had anticipated it would be years before her name and Brian’s were cleared.
“Auntie Angela,” Sarah exclaimed, skipping across the kitchen. Soon to be ten, she reminded Angela so much of Rachel when they had been that age. “You’re up.” Her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “Usually, I’m the first one up, and it’s my quiet time without my little brother.”
Angela chuckled. “I see.”
Sarah gave her a hug. “I’m glad you’re going to be here all week. It’s going to be just like having a real aunt.”
When yet another lump rose in Angela’s throat and her eyes once more blurred, she blamed it on the season. And that might have almost worked as a rationalization if she hadn’t become teary during the church service where she was once more surrounded by people she loved.
The following morning, Angela headed for Guardian Paws early, anticipating the day and the successful conclusion to Jasper’s training. She had no doubt. By this afternoon, he would be a certified guide dog. Maisey was already there, humming Christmas carols under her breath when Angela came into the kitchen.
“Ready or not,” Maisey said with a grin. “Only one more week until Christmas. I feel so fortunate I was able to talk the inspector into rescheduling Jasper’s test for this morning. I thought for sure we’d have to wait until after the first of the year.”
“I’m glad we don’t,” Angela responded. “I’m going to miss Jasper something fierce, though.”
“I can imagine.”
She looked toward the backyard where the dogs were playing, her memory drawn to the first morning that Brian had come to see them. Since then Polly, Gatsby, and Bailey had gone to their new jobs. Jasper would be leaving this afternoon, which left only Checkers and the boxer she had adopted the last day she had spent with Brian. The boxer had such a regal presence that she had named him Baron. He was answering to his name, and she had high hopes for his training, though it was too soon to tell whether he’d make the cut.
“I have a confession,” Maisey said. When Angela looked at her, she added, “Dina Jackson is coming out here this morning.”
Angela frowned. “The name rings a bell—”
“She’s the anchor of that morning show, Great Day Denver.”
“No, Maisey. Not again.” Angela backed away. “We’ve done enough of this.”
Maisey reached for her arm. “I promise. This time it’s going to be okay. She called me on Saturday, and we had a long talk. When I expressed my doubts, she invited me to come down to the station and see what she was working on, and I did. The piece is going to air this Friday, and it’s all about people who personify the giving spirit of Christmas.” Maisey gave her a soft smile. “Sweetie, don’t you get it? That’s you.”
Before Angela had time even to absorb what Maisey had just said, Dina and her cameraman arrived. A little makeup and a fluff to her hair, and somehow she was outside, demonstrating the two ends of the training spectrum for Dina: Jasper, who was an hour away from taking his final test to get his certification, and Baron, who was at the very beginning of his training.
When they were finished, and the dogs were sitting obediently at Angela’s feet, Dina said, “Watching you work with these dogs is one of the most wonderful things ever. I’m so glad Brian called me and told me this would be the perfect finale for my show before the Christmas break.”
