“I could say the same thing of you about talking to him in the first place, but I won't. I'm not under any circumstances going to sue St. Bernard's. They couldn't afford it, and the people in the community need that hospital to remain open more then we need the money to appease your ego,” Monet said. She put the half eaten carton of ice cream back in the freezer.
“My ego has nothing to do with this,” Marcus retorted. “I just think someone needs to pay.”
“We both are, because you can't see what's right in front of your face.”
“Oh, I see all right,” Marcus said in a nasty tone. “I see my wife, who doesn't seem to give a crap about my opinion and does what she wants.”
“Let me tell you something, Marcus Caldwell.” Monet pointed her finger at him. “The bottom line is you're wrong. You barely talk to me. Shoot, you act like I don't exist, and you're the one who initiated the dialogue with the attorney, not me. I fix dinner for you, which you refuse to eat. I hate this gulf between us, but I'm not changing my position. I'm having our child, and you need to get with the program.” She turned on her heels and marched out of the kitchen and upstairs to the bedroom.
Marcus stood in the kitchen fuming; his lips were twisted in fury. Mitzi stood up and howled mournfully, then lay back down in her basket and covered her eyes with her paws, as if she couldn't bear the strain in the Caldwell household.
A coil of hot anger wrapped around Marcus's heart, and he ran up the stairs to their bedroom. “Why can't you see how this situation is tearing us apart?” He tried to keep the bitterness he felt out of his voice.
Monet was sitting on the bed, and her expression was as miserable as her husband's. “Marc, I see just as clearly as you do what has happened to us. And I also see somewhere along the way you lost your faith in God.”
Marcus shook his head. “I don't know, perhaps you're right. I don't understand why God would allow you to be beaten and raped. Why would a God who promises never to leave us alone let something like that happen to you?”
“Oh, sweetie,” Monet murmured. She wanted to go to Marcus and wrap her arms around his body. She wished he'd sit on the bed next to her. “God never said that our way would be easy. We'll always have trials and tribulations to endure. He spared my life,” she whispered. “Imagine how you would've felt if the hospital called to tell you that I had died.”
“I feel like our marriage is dying, and I don't understand why it has to be this way.” Marcus sighed heavily.
“No matter what we endure here on this earth, imagine how God felt knowing Jesus was going to die on the cross? He sent His only begotten son here to teach the world about His father's goodness and mercy, and then His son is crucified. If God could do that for mankind, surely we can trust in Him.” Monet looked at Marcus, hoping she was getting through to him. But she wasn't.
Marcus's face was stony as he said, “All I know is that you've put your feelings before mine. I don't agree with any of the choices you've made. You know what, Monet? Forget it. Just continue to do things your way.” He stormed out of the room.
She sat on the bed feeling like she'd been slapped. Then she fell to her knees. She closed her eyes as tears seeped down her cheeks, bowed her head and clasped her hands tightly together. “Father, forgive him for he knows not what he is doing or saying.” Monet prayed fervently like she'd never prayed before. Her lips moved quickly. When she was done making pleas to God for intercession, she stretched across the bed, unable to sleep for the longest time. In the basement, Marcus's saxophone keened and moaned.
Chapter 23
Although Marcus assumed he would visit Aron the same week he reached out to him, it actually took a month and was the end of April before he'd been cleared to visit Dwight Correctional Facility and meet with the warden and prison officials.
Wade accompanied Marcus to Dwight, Illinois. The ride from the south side of Chicago to downstate Illinois took close to four hours. The partners talked about their cases and sports and their annual fishing trip.
Half an hour upon arriving at the prison, Marcus and Wade were sitting on a sofa outside Warden Jones's office waiting to see him.
Levi apologized for the warden's unavailability for the umpteenth time. “He's been very busy lately working on the budget. I'm sure he'll be available any minute.” The phone on Levi's desk buzzed. He snatched up the receiver. When he disconnected the call, he told Marcus and Wade, “He can see you now.” He stood up and escorted them into the office.
Warden Jones stood up. “Hello, I'm Warden Jones. I apologize for the delay.” He sat down in his massive swivel chair after the men shook hands. Wade and Marcus made themselves comfortable in chairs in front of the warden's desk. “Detectives, what can I do for you?” the warden asked.
“We're here regarding Aron Reynolds,” Marcus explained. “He's my father-in-law. We recently found out that he's been incarcerated here for thirty years, and that he's nearly done serving his time.”
Warden Jones nodded. “Okay, I remember now.” He put on a pair of thick wire framed glasses and opened a file on his desk. “Let's see what we have here. Aron Reynolds has been a prisoner here since nineteen seventy-one. He was transferred here from the Joliet Correctional Facility two years into his sentence due to overcrowding. We had problems with his behavior after he was transferred here. He got into fights, we knew he was dealing drugs, and he had a belligerent attitude. The prisoner spent a lot of time in the hole. Then about twenty years ago a woman began visiting him once or twice a year and he settled down. And we haven't had any trouble from him since then. He finished high school while he's been here and received a college degree. He has also participated in religious services. He could have gotten out on parole earlier, but he chose to serve out his time. He has reached out to his victim's family. Aron turned sixty-seven years old last September. That's his story in a nutshell. Are you aware of the circumstances that brought him here?” the warden asked. He leaned back in his chair and his phone buzzed. “Excuse me,” he said. “Yes, Levi, what is it? I thought I asked you to hold my calls.” He listened for a few minutes, and then said, “Okay, send him in.” Warden Jones turned his attention back to Wade and Marcus. “The guard who works on Aron's cellblock is available to join us.”
The door opened, and another man walked into the office and took the last vacant chair in front of the warden's desk.
“This is Charles Little.” Warden Jones introduced the guard to the two detectives. Charles was a portly man, with a receding hairline, who looked like he hadn't exercised in years. “I was just giving Detectives Caldwell and Harrison background information about prisoner 17703256. Detective Caldwell is the prisoner's son-in-law.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Charles nodded to Marcus and Wade. “I interact with the prisoners on a daily basis, so I can answer any questions you have about old Aron.”
“I'd like to thank both of you for taking the time out to see us,” Marcus said. “I also wanted to know if it would be possible for us to see Aron Reynolds today.”
The two prison officials looked at each other. Charles deferred to his boss.
“I don't see why not. Charlie, what would be the best time to set up the meeting?” asked Warden Jones.
“After lunch would be a good time,” he answered.
“I was giving the detectives the prisoner's background information. Aron will be released next month, so he's taken all the psychological evaluations, and everyone feels he's ready to re-enter society. Because of his age, we don't anticipate him returning to a life of crime,” the warden said.
“Does he seem sincere about his religious learning?” Wade asked.
The guard nodded. “He's been attending church here for about fifteen years. We know a lot of men do that so it can look good when they have parole hearings, but that situation didn't apply to Aron.”
“That's unusual, isn't it?” Marcus asked.
“I guess it's not if a person had truly undergone a religious conversion. Aron wasn't one of them up-in-your-face born again Christians though. He just seemed to enjoy the services. We can give you the pastor's name who volunteers here, if you need to talk to him for more information,” Charles replied.
“Thanks,” Marcus said, “but I don't think that will be necessary.” He took out a notepad and began writing notes on it. “In the beginning, did Aron deny killing the victim?”
Warden Jones shook his head. “Most of the men here would sell their mother if they could get out of here, Aron wasn't that type. After he stopped fighting the other inmates, he settled down for the long haul. He works in the horticultural area. He seems to really have an affinity for growing plants.”
“I don't know how well that trait will serve him in Chicago,” the guard snorted. “We try to encourage the men to learn more marketable skills when they have the opportunity, but not old Aron. He said he was from the south, where dirt and growing plants was in his blood since he grew up on a farm.”
“You never can tell about that. Some people do hire people to tend to their lawns and gardens,” Wade said quietly. Something about the guard put him off.
“So you don't think he'll fall back on his old ways?” Marcus asked.
“Son, all we do is test them and factor in their behavioral patterns. It's not a perfect science. Aron hasn't done anything for us to assume that he would go back to his criminal ways,” the warden said.
“Only time will tell,” the guard added.
“Well, I have a wife and we live in a decent community, so we don't want to introduce an undesirable person to the neighborhood,” Marcus said.
“What were the circumstances that led to him being incarcerated?” Wade asked the warden.
He looked down and flipped the pages in the file. “He was stealing a car and got caught by the owner. Aron said the owner pulled his gun on him first, so the shooting was self-defense. He said he hadn't actually taken the car at that point, so he was a victim of circumstances. That didn't fly of course. He went to trial and was found guilty and sent to Joliet. You were aware that the crime happened on the south side of Chicago, weren't you?”
“Yes, I was able to find some information about the case in the archives,” Marcus replied. He was still writing notes.
“All felons say they are innocent. If I had a dime for every time I heard that lame excuse, I wouldn't have to work another day of my life,” the guard interjected complacently into the conversation.
“And some of them are telling the truth,” Wade said quietly. “Look how new DNA testing has cleared thousands of men.”
“You sound like you side with prisoners. You're one of us, and as a detective, I would think your outlook on them would be different.” Charles looked at Wade with a slight sneer on his face.
“I'm for justice period.” Wade's tone of voice brooked no argument. “We have enough black men in jail; surely the innocent ones deserve a fair shake. If a man has been found guilty of a crime, then of course, he should do the time. We all know back in the fifties, and even now, how racial prejudice exists, and a lot of men got a bum deal. So I keep an open mind, that's all.”
“Did anyone visit Aron when he was in Joliet?” Marcus asked.
“Not a soul for the longest time, and then a woman started visiting him from time to time about twenty years ago. We thought he was a single man without any family, so I was quite surprised when I got your call,” the warden answered.
“What about letters, mail? Did he receive anything from anyone?”
“Yes, he did, but that was years ago,” Charlie answered. “They were mostly from a small town in Louisiana. We thought he might go back to Louisiana after he gets released. According to our records, Aron was born and raised in New Orleans, and later he migrated to Alabama. He received letters from Alabama too.”
“The letters from Louisiana stopped about ten years ago. We were able to surmise they were from a relative, maybe a sister or aunt. The letters from Alabama stopped five years ago. They were from a woman, and they shared the same surname,” the warden announced, after checking the file once again. “I'm sorry, I should've asked you when you arrived if you'd like something to drink; coffee or tea, maybe?”
Wade and Marcus declined the offer and asked the warden and guard several more questions. When they were done talking a half an hour later, the guard said to give him twenty minutes, and then they could visit Aron. He left the office and returned to the cellblock.
Warden Jones stood up. “Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure. I hope we were able to help you somewhat. I have a lunch appointment, and then a meeting afterward. Feel free to contact me if you have any further questions. You can wait for Charlie in the waiting area, and he will escort you to Aron's cellblock.”
Marcus and Wade rose from their chairs. “Thank you, Warden Jones. You've been very helpful. I guess all that's left to do is meet the man himself,” Marcus said. The men shook the warden's hand and walked back out to the waiting area to await Charlie's return.
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Back in Chicago at the Caldwells' residence, Monet was on pins and needles, anticipating Marcus's return. She kept looking at the grandfather clock in the living room, like doing so would make time go faster, even though she had no idea when he would be back.
Monet, with Duane's help a week ago, had returned to the attic and brought down all the memorabilia their mother had amassed over the years. Monet must have looked at the pictures of her father a million times, until the corners of the snapshots were dog-eared. Duane flew to Alabama long enough to retrieve documents from their mother's secret safe-deposit box and return to Chicago. Luckily, she had granted access to the box to all her children. In the box were Aron's unopened letters to his children over the years. Duane and Monet poured through the letters like they were reading a novel. Even now, weeks later, Monet was in the process of re-reading the letters.
The decision as to where Aron would reside once he was released from prison was still up in the air. Derek maintained his stance that he wanted no part of his father, while Monet and Duane, being more opened minded, were willing to hear his side of the story.
Monet picked up a picture of Aron when he must have been around thirty years old. She said, “Daddy,” but didn't feel any connection to the stern looking, handsome man in the sepia print. She opened the last letter Aron had written to them dated 2004 and read it again.
To my children,
I'm sorry I ain't been around you or tried to contact you most of your life before now. I did you all and your momma wrong. I know now that I should have stayed with Gay and helped her raise our family.
I was a young man with a lot of anger in me. I think it was 'cause I didn't have nobody to encourage me in life, and my Pops always told me that I wouldn't amount to nothing. He was right. Gayvelle was the only person who encouraged me, but I was too proud to listen to and believe in what she was telling me.
The way my Pops treated me filled me with anger that I didn't know how to let go of my rage. Don't be upset with your momma for not telling you about me. I told her to tell you when she thought the time was right.
Despite all that has happened, Gay has been kind to me. She could have divorced me a long time ago. So some love for me must have remained in her heart because otherwise, she never would have written to me all those years ago. I hope one day you'll find forgiveness in your heart and let me try to make it up to you.
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Your father,
Aron Reynolds
Monet just shook her head.
Why can't I feel any love in my heart for this man? Is it because he left Momma and us? I just can't figure it out
. She rubbed her finger along her father's face.
A murderer, that sounds so horrible. My father is a killer. God, I hope he didn't kill any children
. She had run a Google search on her father's name, but didn't get any hits.
The baby kicked vigorously, and Monet smiled and rubbed her now noticeable, rotund belly. “Okay, little girl, are you trying to tell me that you're hungry, or are you just trying to get my attention?” She set the picture on the table and slowly rose off the couch.
Her blood workup from the lab had come back within normal readings, and the ultra sound procedure didn't disclose any abnormalities. But she declined taking the amniocentesis test. She knew that Faith was just fine, and didn't want to subject her baby to any intrusive test. Monet was the picture of health and wore that pregnant woman glow. She was nearing the end of her second trimester.