“It’s fine.” I grab her wrists. She tries to wiggle away. I don’t let her. I pull her in, and I hug her tightly. She stops resisting. “We’ll go to the police together. We’ll tell them everything you’ve found. I won’t let anything happen to you.” I pull out of the hug and look her in the eyes trying to reassure her. Leaning in, I kiss her. It’s a kiss of comfort, at least I think it is, at least I hope she knows it is. I kiss her again and again until she stops crying.
When she’s calmed down, I think that I have helped until a flash of anger spreads across her face.
She pushes me hard. I stumble back and catch myself before I fall to the ground. “Get out! You have to leave!”
“Please, Rebecca. Let me help you.”
“You can’t help me. Get the fuck out of my house.”
I put my hands up and back out slowly. It’s not anger on her face. It’s fear. She’s scared, and I don’t know if it’s me she’s afraid of or someone else. She’s right. I can’t help her. I can’t even help myself.
Before I can even make it to the front door, I see the strobing of red and blue lights across the front window. “Did you call the police!?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was you.” Tears stream down her face.
“Who did you think—” but I’m cut off as a loud pounding starts at the door.
“Police department! All parties come out of the house with your hands up!”
I open the front door slowly, one hand in the air while the other turns the knob. Before I can open it all the way and raise my other hand, I am seized by the shirt collar and thrown to the ground outside. A knee is pressed into the small of my back, and a thick pair of hands grab my wrists and places me in handcuffs. As I’m pulled to my feet and dragged to the squad car, my eyes catch the faint glimpse of a shadow moving in the bushes behind Rebecca’s house. I look away before it registers in my mind and I snap back to see it again, but it’s gone. With the lights flashing in my eyes and no water for two days, I can only guess the things I might be seeing.
I surrender without a fight and take my place in the back seat, ready for my ride back to the station. I look forward out the front window of the car, losing my thoughts in the spiraling lights and begin to pass out. At least this part I do deserve.
57
Sarah Morgan
Unless Matthew pulls through for me, I’m fucked.
I received a text from him last night saying, “Got it.” I didn’t ask for any more information. What I’m having him do isn’t legal, so I’d rather not leave a trail of information leading to me. I’ll have to wait. I’ll have to be patient, and I’ll have to hope that one of those goddamn names is a match. I’m on the couch in my office looking out the window at the city, something I never take the time to do. But right now, I have time.
There’s a knock, and before I can tell whoever it is to enter, the door opens and in walks Bob. He’s carrying a few folders that he has to shift in his arms as he closes the door behind him.
I let out a groan.
“Tell me this is all almost over,” he says taking a seat beside me, completely uninvited, but I’m too tired to fight with him.
“It should be. Court starts Monday. I have Matthew working on something that will help.”
He nods and places the folders on the coffee table. “I thought I should let you know Sheriff Stevens cleared me.”
“Well, I suppose that’s good news.” I glance at him and then return my gaze to the skyline.
“I was in Wisconsin. He verified my flights, and I have twenty plus witnesses that can verify my whereabouts.”
“You don’t need to convince me, Bob.”
“I just thought you’d like to know… for the case.”
We sit in silence for a few moments.
“What about Anne?” I finally ask. I know Bob is more informed than he should be about this case. He doesn’t want anything to reflect poorly on the firm, and he’s still upset about Adam’s outburst and how it made him look.
“She seems to be cleared,” he says.
“Seems?”
“Yes.”
I don’t question him any further. There’s no way Anne could have done this. She doesn’t have it in her. She’s meek and kind. She couldn’t even tell me that Adam was cheating on me. How the hell could she pull off a murder?
“The police also checked my bank accounts to rule out that I paid someone to off Kelly.”
I nod.
“I’m clear there as well.”
“Okay. Is there a reason you’re telling me all of this, Bob?”
“I just want to make sure we’re on the same page. We are on the same team, after all, Sarah. You know that, right?” he questions. His face softens. His face is never soft in the office. It’s always stern. Always condemning. Always masked with anger or discontent.
“Yeah, I know, Bob.”
“And I spoke to Kent about the incident. He understands that you aren’t to blame for what happened in the office with Adam.”
“Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”
He tries to give me a look of comfort. He stands and leans over placing his hand on mine. He gives it a small pat. I nearly pull away. It feels strange but oddly comforting.
“This will all be over soon,” he says, and he starts to walk out of the office.
“Bob,” I call out to him. Stopping him mid-exit.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Sheriff Stevens. His line of questioning the other night. I had no idea he was going to take it there, and it was completely inappropriate.” My phone rings jolting me and interrupting our conversation.
“It’s… fine,” he replies. “You should get that.” And he turns and leaves my office.
I pick up the phone from the coffee table. “Sarah Morgan.”
“This is Sheriff Stevens. I wanted to inform you that your client escaped from our premises sometime yesterday. We think we’ve located him. We need you to come down to the station.” The line clicks dead as he hangs up abruptly.
“Motherfucker!” I throw the phone down and grab a coffee mug from my desk, whipping it against the wall. It shatters into a million pieces.
58
Adam Morgan
Back at the station, a familiar scene of yelling and finger pointing unfolds before me. The saliva of countless sheriffs and deputies giving orders rains onto me. To say they were gentle in their handling would be quite false indeed, but I suppose this is the treatment a murder suspect who has escaped and been recaptured deserves, so I don’t complain.
Before I had a sort of status: only my hands were cuffed in front of me, and only during transfers. That’s gone. Now both my hands and feet are cuffed and attached to each other. I am never left unsupervised and barely allowed to speak without being met by a chorus of yelling.
Of the things that have been screamed at me since my return, the few that stick out are, “…transfer to max holding…” “…fucked up one too many times!” and “…your attorney will be here shortly before your transfer.” The last one is particularly disappointing as I once again get to play the fuck-up in front of Sarah.