Archives:
August 5-August 11, 2007

August 5, 2007

“Well, you've been sitting in the front row for the whole trial,” Grandma says, dealing the cards for this hand of Canasta. “Do you think the jury's going to let him go?”

“I think they should,” I reply, picking up my cards, one by one. “But it's hard, because you never get to hear what the jury's thinking. I mean, the best you can tell is just by watching their facials, I guess, but I was always watching the witnesses, or my dad, or the prosecutor.”

“I'm sure your father has a handle on where the jury stands.”

“Well I'd think he was a little more focused on the witnesses too.”

“Yes,” Grandma says, picking up her cards. “But I think John has a good handle on everything going on in that court room.”

“You're probably right.”

“So how confident does he seem?” she asks, arranging her cards.

“Confident,” I nod, “but I think he's worried. I mean, it's not just a client—it's his friend. And he doesn't want to be responsible for him going to jail after he already lost his wife.” I take my first two cards from the stack.

“I'd say Darryl's the one who's responsible—him or whoever actually killed his wife.” Grandma draws some cards of her own. “So how's his daughter doing?”

“She's been all right,” I say without looking up. “I mean, she's stressed out, of course.”

“And how about her boyfriend? You didn't seem too fond of him.”

I smile and nod, picking up Grandma's discard. “I've got this feeling—I don't know, it's not based on anything, but I keep getting this feeling like he knows something about the murder.”

“You think he was the murderer.”

I look up. It's funny how perceptive she can be sometimes. “Like I said, it isn't based on anything, but I just don't get the right feeling about this guy.”

“And you're sure that's not jealousy?”

“Jealousy? About what?”

Grandma shrugs, drawing again, as I reach for my iced tea.

August 6, 2007

My phone vibrates on my nightstand. I rub my eyes, figuring it's my morning alarm. My head positively aches, and I wonder how it could be time to wake up already. It's only then that I observe it's still dark out. I reach for the phone and realize it's not time to get up at all. I see Valerie's name on the caller ID screen.

“Valerie?” I answer, my voice a little splintered. I look to my clock radio to find that it's 3:37 .

“ Preston , I'm sorry if I woke you up.”

“It's all right,” I half lie, closing my eyes again, but propping myself up against my headboard so I won't fall back asleep. “What's up?”

“I had this nightmare,” she says, and I notice she's breathing really heavily. “Could you come outside?”

“Valerie, are you all right?”

“No—I mean, I'm OK. But I drove over, and I'm parked outside your house. Could you just come outside?”

I get up and walk to my window, parting my curtains just far enough to see outside where her Viper sits parked behind my Oldsmobile in the driveway. “Yeah.” I run a hand though my hair. “Yeah, I'll be right down.”

I throw on the t-shirt I wore the night before and make my way out of my room, down the stairs, and out the front door.

“What's going on, Valerie?” I ask sitting down in the car, slamming the door shut behind me.

“ Preston , I have to tell you—” she trails, off looking a way, running a finger under each of her eyes.

“You have to tell me what?”

She looks back at me, eyes wide and glassy. “I killed my mother.”

August 7, 2007

“ Preston , why did you wait to tell me about all this?” Dad asks, standing a hand on his head. He stood up from his desk, and started pacing as I got to the meat of my story.

“It's just—Valerie wasn't real clear on whether she wanted for me to tell anyone about this. All she kept saying was that her father needed to know.”

“So let me make sure I've got this straight,” Dad says, sitting on the edge of his desk, then getting back up, scooping up a legal pad and pen, then sitting back down. “Adam came up with a plan to kidnap Cheryl Goodman, and hold her up for ransom, and he got Valerie to go along with it.” He scribbles onto the pad as he speaks. “They park the car a couple blocks away and sneak into the house through the backdoor, so neighbors wouldn't see them. They've both got masks on, and Valerie unlocks the gun, and she's the one who carries it upstairs.” Dad keeps writing, then moves the pen up to a corner of the page, scribbling hard.

He tosses the dried up pen over his shoulder, and scoops up another from his desk. “And the game plan was to bring her back to Adam's house and keep her locked up in his sound proof recording studio until Darryl paid up.” Dad flips over the page, starting another. “Only, when they set foot in the room, the gun went off, shooting Cheryl in the chest. Valerie wants to help her, but Adam says they've got to beat it, and they get the hell out of dodge until Darryl's come back, and the police have him in custody.” Dad shakes his head, then looks back up at me. “And you're sure about all of this?”

I nod. “That's what she told me. And I've seen the recording studio for myself. Totally soundproof, and he's got it in a dark basement. He could have kept somebody there as long as he wanted to. That, and he's got this thing to distort his voice too.”

Dad taps his pen against the pad, reading over his notes. “But why the ransom? He's the boyfriend, and you said Darryl already loaned him the money for his studio.”

“Yeah, but I've never got the impression Darryl was real buddy-buddy with him. And after giving him thousands of dollars for the studio, I doubt he was going to be eager to give him more.”

“And people always want more money.” Dad says, nodding slowly. “I've got to bring this to Darryl.”

I nod. “I think that's what Valerie wanted.”

August 8, 2007

“Well, she's lying,” Darryl says, a smile wavering on and off of his face. “She wants to protect me—”

“I think she was telling me the truth,” I say, the first thing I've said this morning. Dad laid out the whole scenario for him, not sparing any details, communicating every piece of information I could have myself.

Darryl looks at me, then back to my father. “It just couldn't be. Adam was bad news, but he never could have gotten her to handle my gun. She knows better than that.” He looks back and forth between us again, sitting on his side of the table in this visiting room of the jail. “Maybe she's covering for him? Maybe Adam shot Cheryl.”

“Darryl,” Dad starts, “I'm not going to deny that I think Adam's the bad apple in all this. It sounds like it was his plan, and he was going to be the one who benefited most from it. But your daughter played a part in this.”

“But you don't know that.”

“Did you give Adam a key to the house?” Dad asks. “Or did you tell him where you kept the key to your gun case? At the very least, Valerie's an accessory in all of this.” Dad looks at me, then back at Darryl. “And she's been talking to Preston a lot—they've built up a trust over the last few months. If there was anyone she was going to tell, it's him.”

I'm not sure that's true. I think about Allie, or friends she might have back at school. I couldn't be the only one she would talk to.

I wonder if it's possible.

Darryl's eyes lock on me, and all I can do is nod.

August 9, 2007

Darryl peers across the table at my father. There are dark rings beneath his eyes, and he looks older than he ever has before. “What sort of plea is Shelly offering?”

Dad scratches at his nose, and looks down at the table. “I don't think we need to talk about that.”

“John, you're legally obligated to tell me what they're putting out there.”

I lean back in my chair a little, feeling myself oddly fixed between wanting to remove myself from this conversation, and not wanting to miss a word.

Dad rolls his tongue over his teeth, beneath his skin. “They're offering you manslaughter. It's a maximum of ten years in prison.”

“Ten years?” Darryl looks down, pressing his finger tips together. “It's not such a bad deal. Ten years is a lot less time than spending the rest of my life in prison.” He chuckles. “Heck, at my age it's like an early retirement.”

“The reason they're willing to offer you manslaughter is because they know they haven't made their case,” Dad says. “They'll hand down the verdict any time now, and you'll be a free man.”

“And if they let me go, the investigation goes on. The police will still look for the murderer.”

Dad looks down again. “I suppose that they will.”

Darryl nods. “Then I want for you to tell them I'm taking the plea.”

“Darryl—”

“You're not going to talk me out of this, John. I go away for ten years, maybe less, and I get out when I'm sixty. Instant retirement—it's not so bad.”

“But—”

“It's better for an old man to lose ten years than for another member of my family to lose her life.”

My pulse is pounding. In this instant, I don't feel a bit of sympathy for Valerie. I think of all the laughter and all of the tears I've seen from her, and it disgusts me. Maybe Adam did manipulate her, and it was all his idea. Granted, he's an asshole. But she could have told the truth when all of this happened, and not just to me—but right to the police.

I think about Darryl Goodman going to prison. It's enough to make me want to cry.

Dad sits up straight, and smoothes out his tie beneath his hand. “I'll tell Shelly.”

August 10, 2007

It's funny, the things you never notice when your attention's focused elsewhere. The paint of the front window of the Crystal Castle is chipped at the end of the y, and the last digit of the store phone number is chipped away. I never really looked at the window before, except for in passing, on my way in to see Valerie.

As the sun sets behind me, I sit in the parking lot, not more than two yards from the store. I'm not sure why I came here. A part of me wanted to tell her off. I want to tell her off for letting Adam suck her into his stupid plan. I want to tell her off for the gunshot itself, but more so for not telling anyone—for running away, and letting her father take the fall. I want to tell her off for sitting idly by today when the sentence came down, not owning up to what she did.

I want to tell her off for telling me what she did. What could I do? Keep it to myself or tell my father—and either way, sit back, and watch how things played out.

I want to tell her off for manipulating me into thinking she was something good. I saw her as some damsel in distress, the victim of a fresh-broken family and an asshole boyfriend. All the while, she knew that she'd held that smoking gun in her own hands.

But then I think it's all my fault—the image I had of her, anyway. My father told me to get to know her, but I sure as hell took some liberties with that. I think of how she kissed me. I pushed her away, but not until after she'd done it. When I let her stay at the house, and sit on my bed, what was I thinking about then? Or when I brought her to see Dave's band play?

I suppose that's what disgusts me more than anything. A part of why I came here tonight was to see Valerie. I was hoping on the off chance she would be arranging the trinkets in the front window display case, or that she would be vacuuming the store, and come into my line of vision. I suppose if I wait here long enough, I'd probably walk into the store myself, just to steal a peek. A peek would turn into a conversation where I'd feel that anger bubbling beneath my skin. Maybe I'd let it loose. More likely, I'd swallow it, and act like nothing was wrong. More likely still, I'd feel the anger slip away the second she opened her mouth.

I turn the ignition, and back out of my spot. I tell myself I'm not coming back. I almost believe it.

August 11, 2007

“What's wrong?” Teri asks over the phone.

“Nothing,” I lie at first, scanning the cupboard for some breakfast. I meant to call Teri last night, but just never got around to it, and figured I ought to say hi before another day went by. “It's just—Darryl's going to prison.”

“Oh my God, they found him guilty?”

“Na, he took a plea. He's only going away for five to ten years on manslaughter.”

“Oh.” She sounds a little surprised. “Well relative to murder, that's not so bad.”

“It's still an innocent man going to prison.”

“But not for the rest of his life.” There's a pause. I run my hand through my hair. I really should really get it cut soon. “I'm sorry, I know that's not right,” Teri goes on. “You know, you had me worried?”

“Oh?”

“Well when you didn't call me the last two nights, and then you sounded so morose when you called today. I thought something really bad had happened,” she says. “You know, I mean, like something really bad had happened to you.”

“Yeah. Guess everything's okay with me.”

“I'm sorry, that all came out wrong.” She sighs. “I've actually got to get going. But we'll talk later, okay?

“Yeah, that's fine,” I say, pulling down a loaf of white bread. I figure I'll just make toast. “I'll talk to you later.”