Justification for Murder

Tuesday

H
arper Johnson looked down at the woman bleeding on the floor. He drew a line through the first name on his list of three with a pen. The ink was red and the tip was broken, so it bled unevenly as he ran it through the letters. When he was done, he folded the piece of paper and stuffed it back in his pocket.

She hadn’t put up too much of a fight. He surprised her in the bedroom, where he’d expected to finish the job, but she had hit him hard with the hair dryer and run downstairs to the kitchen, probably hoping to find something to defend herself with. But Harper had anticipated this and hidden the Wüsthof knives in the fridge before he went upstairs to confront her.

When he appeared in the kitchen, she was searching frantically, but she found nothing and froze. He closed the distance between them slowly and deliberately. She started to scream, but before the voice carried too far, he leaped toward her and smashed her head with the aluminum bat he’d been swinging. She dropped to the floor with a heavy thud.

Harper kneeled down on one knee. While leaning on the bat, he checked her pulse. It was faint, but she was still alive. He stood and placed one foot on each side of her waist and, holding the bat with both hands, he took a deep breath and drove it down with all his strength. Evelyn Shaw’s skull cracked, spilling brain and blood onto the kitchen floor.

Harper looked at her and felt a pang of pity. Then, with a whisper he said, “Better you than me” and started raiding her place so the police would think it had been a robbery gone bad. He went back upstairs and looked for jewelry. He took everything he found regardless of its apparent value and stuffed it inside his large black duffle bag. He then searched the closet for furs, but this being California, he wasn’t surprised to not find any.

Back downstairs, Harper took her laptop, cell phone and the small Bang & Olufsen sound system that held a prominent place in the living room. He opened the sliding doors to the backyard and walked outside to find the kitchen window. He took a rock from the flowerbed and broke the glass. He slid the window open, returned the rock to where it had been and walked back inside. Harper closed the blinds so nosy neighbors couldn’t see the body lying there. He took a final look around and, finding nothing else that could fit in his bag, left through the back door.

Harper drove out of Scotts Valley and as soon as he entered Santa Cruz, he stopped by the first dumpster he found and threw in there everything he had stolen, then drove home to wash the blood off his bat.

S
affron clenched her teeth and looked around. The fancy restaurant with the light classical music and the overly obliging staff was perfect for a couple in love. The place was empty, though, and Saffron wondered if Ranjan had chosen it in case she made a scene. Sipping her wine, she thought about what she wanted to say, or if there was even anything to say.

“Saffron?” Ranjan pressed, but when she looked at him, he didn’t push further.

He drained his glass and not waiting for somebody to refill it, he poured the rest of the bottle. Before she could say anything, the waiter came out of nowhere and asked, “Can I entice you to any dessert tonight?”

“No. The check, please,” she said, curter than she’d intended.

Ranjan reached out to touch her hand, but she moved it as if the contact would burn her. Saffron had decided to remain civil with him in the restaurant and have the fight when they were alone in the car.

They waited outside for the valet to bring the Audi A8. The light rain felt icy on her face and she shivered in the crisp night but moved away when Ranjan tried to wrap his arm around her.

“I’ll drive,” she said, snatching the keys from a guy who looked more like a club bouncer than a valet.

“I can drive,” he assured her.

“You’re drunk. I’m driving,” she said, already getting behind the wheel.

They remained silent as they left Santa Cruz. Saffron concentrated on the car’s movements as it took each curve, smooth and controlled like an old waltz. The Audi gripped the asphalt of Highway 17 on each twist, screeching slightly over the rain but not sliding an inch. The speedometer danced between fifteen and twenty miles per hour over the speed limit. The engine roared, only purring when she slowed down slightly to take the curves.

“I didn’t know you were such a good driver,” Ranjan said.

Saffron ignored the compliment and accelerated again. The rain splashed against the windshield, and the wipers moved back and forth rhythmically. She hoped the swaying would have a soporific effect on her boyfriend. She needed him to be quiet. She decided she didn’t want to have the fight anymore, she just needed time to think.

“Saffron, you have to talk to me.” He slurred a little, the effect of wine finally evident in his voice.

She maneuvered the car around a sharp bend and passed the only car they’d seen in miles. Nobody liked to take Highway 17 in the rain. Her jaw muscles tensed again as she gritted her teeth, her knuckles tight on the wheel.

“You need to understand that I have to do this for my family.” Ranjan looked out the passenger window. The trees were moving too fast, and Saffron saw him pressing his hand against the pit of his stomach.

“Saffron—”

“Stop it,” she said. Her hands started to ache. She rubbed her right hand against her thigh. She switched and did the same with the left. “You need to stop talking. You’ve said enough.”

He shook his head. The only reason she hadn’t walked out on him at the restaurant was because they’d taken his car. He’d pitched the evening as a romantic dinner in Santa Cruz, but it had turned out to be anything but that. She saw him fix his eyes on the road twisting in front of him.

“Can I turn the radio on?” she asked before he could start another plea. Without waiting for a response, she reached out for the knob. Diana Krall was finishing a sad song about a love that ended. “How appropriate,” she said and saw Ranjan’s face twitch.

Saffron shifted her eyes back to the road and was momentarily surprised by a pair of high beams in the rearview mirror. She hadn’t seen any cars trailing them, especially not at the speed she was going. The car, at least a foot taller than Ranjan’s Audi, was coming up fast behind them. She considered slowing down but decided to change lanes instead. The car followed. She lifted her foot from the pedal. The car got closer. She could see it was dark, maybe black or navy. Before the next curve, it turned on its floodlights and almost blinded her.

“What’s going on?” Ranjan asked, turning to look behind him. Saffron saw him swallow hard, as if he was trying to hold down the threat of vomit.

“I don’t know. I think this guy’s crazy.” She looked to the right, but there were no exits, no side roads. “Look for a place where we can pull off.”

“It’s almost midnight and there’re no lights. How do you want me to do that?”

She didn’t answer. The car was now only a few feet behind. Saffron saw a short straightaway and accelerated to almost thirty miles per hour over the speed limit. The car followed, as if they were connected by an invisible line. It got closer. She swerved and moved back into the slow lane, slamming on the brakes as soon as she was on the other side of the white lines. The dark car stayed on the left, and before Saffron managed to get behind it, with a quick twist of the wheel, the driver had rammed them, pushing them off the road.

The Audi screeched, jumped over a shallow ditch, losing its grip on the asphalt, and slid in the fresh mud. She tried to maneuver it back into the road, but the wheels were slick over the grit, tree leaves and loose branches. Saffron tapped on the brakes, but before she was able to slow down enough to regain command of the vehicle, the other car slammed against them again.

The right tire got stuck in the ditch. She turned the wheel but the Audi wouldn’t respond. Before she could try something else, they hit a fallen tree and the car jumped and rolled over, skidding on its hood over thirty feet and coming to a hard stop when it crashed against the median.

As soon as Saffron got her voice back she asked, “Are you okay?”

She pushed the airbag away. Her head was pressed against the top of the car, the seat belt had kept her from breaking her neck. Saffron couldn’t turn enough to see Ranjan, but she could touch him. Shoving him back and forth just a little, she yelled, “Ranjan, are you okay?”

She forced her head toward the passenger seat. She saw blood, Ranjan’s arm and part of his torso, but the deflated airbag covered his face. She rotated further, and screamed as an intense pain pierced through her.

Saffron twisted back to lessen the strain and froze. The Timberland boots near her face were worn out and dark, caked with old mud. The black jeans were too long, frayed in the back.

“Help us,” Saffron said, not sure she wanted his help. The boots came closer, and the man moved a baseball bat from his right side to his left. He started swinging it, almost in slow motion.

“What are you doing?”

She struggled with the seat belt, ignoring the stings of pain that shot through her body with each movement. She tried to unlatch it, but couldn’t find the clasp. The man dropped the bat. The sharp sound of aluminum hitting the pavement filled her ears.

He kneeled. His hands were covered by black leather gloves. His face was hidden by the car. Saffron held her breath.

“Please, don’t. Don’t hurt us.” Her voice cracked, her mouth filled with imaginary cotton.

The dim light reflected on a large hunter’s knife as he slashed the seat belt with a swift motion. Saffron fell against the car’s roof, and bent her neck in an almost impossible position. He grabbed her forearm and pulled her out of the car with such force she thought he would dislocate her shoulder.

A flash of light distracted him for a second. A car’s engine and the ding-ding sound of an open door flooded the air. A man’s voice, about fifteen yards away, asked, “Are you guys okay?”

Before Saffron could yell for help, she heard the bat scraping against the asphalt and muffled steps running away. She looked in the direction of the fainting sound, but the upside-down car was blocking her view.

“Please help me,” she yelled toward the newcomer.

“Some nasty accident. No surprise in this rain.” He kneeled next to her. “Are you okay? Can you stand?”

“Please, help my boyfriend. He’s hurt!”