Archives:
July 22-July 28, 2007

July 22, 2007

“Hey Mom,” I say, answering my cell phone.

“ Preston , how are you, honey?”

“I'm good. How are things down south?”

She sighs. “Sweltering. If there's one season when I miss Shermantown, it's summer.”

“Ah, it's not like it's that cool here,” I say, unlocking my car door here, in the parking lot of my grandma's apartment building. I open the door, and leave it open, letting the heat of the car leak out so it's not quite as unpleasant when I get inside.

“Yeah, I suppose you're right,” she says. “So, everything seems to be coming along on schedule for the wedding.”

“I'm glad to hear it.”

“I just hope it's not too hot that day,” Mom goes on. “You don't want everyone coming into the church all sweaty, or being all tired at the reception.”

“Well that's pretty late in the summer. Should be a little bit cooler by then.” I lean inside the car, and feel like I'm going from a hot day, into a sauna. I get the car started so I can turn on the air conditioning, then duck back outside.

“True, true. Now tell me, is your girlfriend coming?”

“Yeah, she'll be there.”

“Great! I finally get to meet the famous Teri.”

“I'm sure she's looking forward to meeting you, too.”

“And how about your grandmother,” Mom continues, quickly. “How has she been? Do you think she'll have any trouble making it?”

“I actually just left her apartment.”

“Oh, that's right—you still visit her on Sundays. I hope I didn't interrupt—”

“Na, Mom, it's fine. I was out of the building when you called,” I say, relieved to get a full sentence out. I suppose I can't blame her for caring so much about the wedding, though. It should probably be a bigger deal to me—especially when it's only a month away.

I suppose it will matter more when Ray and April are actually here—that, and, hopefully, when this trial's over.

I imagine my folks invited Darryl to the wedding.

I can only hope that, by that day, he'll be free to come.

July 23, 2007

“Now above all else, we want for you to be clear that your father couldn't have done this,” Dad says.

Valerie and I sit in vinyl chairs across the desk from him, in his personal office. Valerie hasn't said much today, nodding and wide eyed at every question. She moves her hair from her face over and over again.

“We don't want for you to lie about anything,” Dad goes on. “If the prosecutor asks you if you're parents were arguing, you can tell them the same thing that you told us. If they ask you anything about the timeline—the sequence of events, there's no need to cover anything up. If they catch you in a lie—even a little one, that's where you risk hurting the case.”

Valerie nods again.

“Otherwise, the jury's going to love you,” Dad says with a smile. “You're a nice, smart, beautiful girl, and when the jury sees how much you love your father, they're going to feel that love themselves.”

I clear my throat. “We know this is hard,” I volunteer, “harder than either of us could begin to understand. But we know that you can do this. And after tomorrow, you'll be done. We just need you tomorrow.”

She nods and tries a smile. “I know. And thank you both for everything. I just hope I can do this right.”

“You'll be great,” Dad says, nodding to her, then me.

I nod back.

July 24, 2007

Stuart Shelly, the prosecutor stands in the middle of the court room, adjusting his glasses “So, Valerie, to the best of your knowledge, did anyone come to your house after your mother arrived, and before for your father returned home.”

I don't like the way he calls her Valerie. For everyone else on the stand, he's used a ‘mister,' ‘miss,' or ‘missus.' Dad told me to keep to expect this on the way into court today, saying that Valerie would be a sympathetic enough character that Shelly would want to avoid looking too formal with her, creating the appearance that he knew her and cared about her, calling her by her first name.

“No, not to my knowledge,” Valerie says. She peers over at my father, who nods.

“Now, Valerie, you just finished your first year in college, is that right?”

“Yes, it is.”

“First year of college. Oh how I miss those days,” he says, casting a greasy smile at the jury. “I remember how strange it could be to come home after that year, returning to a little house, and coming back to the folks after a year away. Let me ask you, Valerie, was there anything different you noticed about your parents when you got back?”

“Yes,” Valerie glances at my father again, and goes on, “I noticed that they were arguing more than I had remembered.”

“Arguing about what?”

“Just little things. Who would put away the dishes, or who should pick up the living room.”

Darryl wrinkles his brow, looking a little confused. I wonder if he even noticed the arguments Valerie's talking about, or if they just the sort of little things that can happen from day to day, and he hardly noticed.

“Would these arguments ever get out of hand? Were you ever worried that one of your parents might hurt the other?”

Valerie looks not to my father, but toward me. It's only a second later that I realize her eyes are locked with Adam's. I look back and forth between them, but neither seems to notice.

“Valerie?” Shelly asks.

A tear rolls down Valerie's cheek. She shakes her head. “No. Never. They would never hurt each other. The arguments were never a big deal, and there weren't that many of them.” She looks at Darryl. “My father loved my mother, and there's no way he would ever do a thing to hurt her.”

July 25, 2007

Stuart Shelly, the prosecutor stands in the middle of the court room, adjusting his glasses “So, Valerie, to the best of your knowledge, did anyone come to your house after your mother arrived, and before for your father returned home.”

I don't like the way he calls her Valerie. For everyone else on the stand, he's used a ‘mister,' ‘miss,' or ‘missus.' Dad told me to keep to expect this on the way into court today, saying that Valerie would be a sympathetic enough character that Shelly would want to avoid looking too formal with her, creating the appearance that he knew her and cared about her, calling her by her first name.

“No, not to my knowledge,” Valerie says. She peers over at my father, who nods.

“Now, Valerie, you just finished your first year in college, is that right?”

“Yes, it is.”

“First year of college. Oh how I miss those days,” he says, casting a greasy smile at the jury. “I remember how strange it could be to come home after that year, returning to a little house, and coming back to the folks after a year away. Let me ask you, Valerie, was there anything different you noticed about your parents when you got back?”

“Yes,” Valerie glances at my father again, and goes on, “I noticed that they were arguing more than I had remembered.”

“Arguing about what?”

“Just little things. Who would put away the dishes, or who should pick up the living room.”

Darryl wrinkles his brow, looking a little confused. I wonder if he even noticed the arguments Valerie's talking about, or if they just the sort of little things that can happen from day to day, and he hardly noticed.

“Would these arguments ever get out of hand? Were you ever worried that one of your parents might hurt the other?”

Valerie looks not to my father, but toward me. It's only a second later that I realize her eyes are locked with Adam's. I look back and forth between them, but neither seems to notice.

“Valerie?” Shelly asks.

A tear rolls down Valerie's cheek. She shakes her head. “No. Never. They would never hurt each other. The arguments were never a big deal, and there weren't that many of them.” She looks at Darryl. “My father loved my mother, and there's no way he would ever do a thing to hurt her.”

July 26, 2007

“I think she did well,” Dad nods, peering out into the yard before he takes another bite of his hamburger, out on our back porch.

“Yeah, me too.” I press my fingers into my hot dog roll, not really hungry. “It's just that I noticed something funny when Valerie was on the stand.”

“Funny?”

“You know how she was looking to you a lot when she was answering Shelly's questions?”

“Yeah, she was just nervous about doing everything right.”

I watch a bushy-tailed squirrel bound his way up a tree in front of us. “But the thing is, when Shelly was asking her about her parents arguing, she hesitated, and she was looking at Adam.”

“She was looking at Adam? I didn't catch that,” Dad says, straightening a little in his chair.

I nod. “I didn't know what to make of it. And then yesterday, when I got to court, the two of them were arguing in the hallway. I couldn't hear much of it, but I guess Valerie wasn't returning his calls, so then he showed up at the house uninvited. I'm not really sure what happened, but they stopped fighting once I got close to them.”

Dad pops the rest of his hamburger in his mouth and looks back out at the yard, chewing carefully. “ Preston , how would you feel about following up with Adam?” I think he knows how I feel about that. “Just seems Valerie's withdrawing from you and him now. Could be a good point to start a conversation, maybe make a little headway on what's going on with them.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” I say, taking a bite from my hot dog, not relishing the prospect of the conversation ahead of me.

July 27, 2007

I climb down the stairs to Adam's basement carefully—keeping a hand on the rail, until I feel myself get a splinter in my index finger. From there, I continue on slowly, down the dark stairwell where he still hasn't replaced the light.

When I told him I wanted to talk, Adam said I should stop by the studio an hour after we got out of court. Neither the studio, nor the journey down to it were remotely appealing, but I went along with it for the sake of helping my father.

At the base of the stairs, I could see Adam in his glass booth, filing away CDs in a monstrous rack. Everything is yellow, from the glow of the lamp he shines in there.

I knock on the outside of the glass, before I remember it's soundproof and just open the door.

Adam peeks over his shoulder, before turning back to the CDs. “Presto, what's happening?”

“Not too much. What are you up to?”

“Just getting all of these CDs put away.”

“Right on.” I lean back against his desk, by some sound equipment. Peering down, I see some computer printouts that look like a script. “These for your radio show?” I ask, picking up the pages.

Adam spins around snatches them from my hand, folding them over in his own. “Yeah. But they're still in the works.”

“You know, I'm the editor for my college paper. If you wanted me to read those over—”

“They're just drafts, don't sweat it,” he says, folding them over again, and stuffing them in the pocket of his jeans. “So what did you want to talk about?”

I scratch the back of my head. “Well, my dad and I just wanted to check in, and see how you and Valerie are doing.”

“I'm doing fine. As for Val, you'd have to ask her yourself.”

“Valerie hasn't been talking much to me the last couple days. She wouldn't return my calls.”

“What are you doing calling her?” For a second I think he's going to come after me, but he stops, turning back to his CDs, and jamming one into its slot. “I don't know—I think she was just sad after she testified and all. She'll be fine.”

“Yeah, you're probably right.” I nod, though he can't see me. “Well, listen, I don't want to waste any more of your time. I guess I can be on my way.”

“All right. You can see yourself out right?”

“Yeah,” I say. With that, head out of the booth, back out into the darkness.

July 28, 2007

I turn off my headlights and don't bother signaling as I turn onto Valerie's street. I stop the car a few houses down from hers, put into park. I don't want to stay here for too long. In a nice neighborhood like this, people are going to get nervous about an unknown car just sitting there late at night, and that's without taking the murder into account.

I peer up at Valerie's big white house. There are lots of lights on, and I wonder if that's a result of carelessness, or desire to make the house look like there are more people inside. Valerie's the only staying there, and my father's said more than once that she shouldn't be there alone. Valerie said she didn't want to leave.

Looking at the house, I try place myself two months in the past. Inside, I imagine Valerie's mother, Cheryl, fixing dinner. No—they found the body in the living room. I picture her folding clothes, putting away the last of the day's laundry. Or maybe polishing a dark wooden dresser.

Outside the house, I picture Adam running around a corner. This is my latest hypothesis: Adam knows the house, and he knows the neighborhood after years in a relationship with Valerie. He stashes his car someplace inconspicuous. He knows a way in, maybe through a first floor window, maybe where a spare key is hidden. Maybe Valerie gave him a spare key, or he convinced her to make him a copy. One way or another, he works his way into the house.

Twenty to thirty minutes away, Darryl pulls his Cadillac into the drive thru line at a McDonald's his eyes on an ice cream cone. The line's a little long though, and he figures he'll have dinner in an hour anyway, so he pulls out of line to head home.

Meanwhile, Cheryl thinks she hears someone on the stairs, and stops what she's doing. She doesn't hear anything then, though, so she figures she was just imagining things. She sprays a little more pledge on the dresser and goes at it with her little towel.

Adam creeps along the hallway, toward her room, a little awkward, holding Darryl's gun. Sometime over the last couple years, Darryl or Valerie carelessly told him where to find the key, and so he fetched it without a problem. Maybe he sets the gun down, and fetches a ski mask from his pocket.

Cheryl thinks she hears something fall in the hallway. She sets down the Pledge and heads for the door.

Adam's not expecting for her to open it, so they're both surprised to see each other. Cheryl's more scared of course, eyes wide, she probably screams, backing away from the door. I don't know what Adam's motive is. Maybe Cheryl said something to Valerie about being able to do better than him. Or maybe Adam was coming to rob the house and wanted to subdue her first.

Whatever the case, he threatens her with the gun. Whether he means to or not, the gun goes off. Cheryl's dead. Shocked at himself for his first murder, Adam bolts out of the house. Maybe he was late to pick up Valerie too. After all, he brought her home after Darryl got there.

Darryl just misses Adam. He heads into the house without any idea that there's something wrong. He tosses his blazer over an arm of the couch and heads to the fridge to get a bottled water, calling up the stairs to his wife, to say hello. Cheryl doesn't respond or come downstairs for a few minutes, so he decides to head up there.

Just as Darryl finds his wife, Adam shows up to meet with Valerie. She asks him why he's out of breath, or why he's still wearing the gloves he forgot to take off, in his frenzy to get out of the house. He laughs it all off and drives her home. They can't even get in her driveway, though, because the police cars are already there.

I lean back in my car seat, wondering if there's any truth to what I envisioned, and even so, if any piece of it could be proven. In the meantime, I spy Valerie's silhouette in a window upstairs. She looks like she could be dancing, her arms in the air. No—she's probably just fixing her hair in the mirror, maybe tying it up before she goes to sleep.

The light goes off. A minute later, I shift the car into drive, and head on. I wait until I turn off the street to put my headlights back on.