The Defendant (6 page)

No, that wasn’t the worst of it.
The worst part was when she glanced up and saw her son, his face stark with shock and horror and disbelief. That was by far the worst. That was the memory she’d never escape.

What followed was a nightmare she didn’t think she’d ever wake from: The man pounding into her; the crack of the gunshot. The noise of it smashed into her brain, even as her attacker collapsed on top of her without another sound.

Warm blood and tissue had sprayed across her face, blinding her, choking her, horrifying her. And all that time, Daniel had stared at her, his face a frozen mask of terror and incredulity. She didn’t even remember calling the police, but all of a sudden, they were there and from that moment forward, everything passed in a blur.

Paramedics examined her. In muted tones, they declared her in shock, but otherwise unharmed.
Unharmed?
Had someone really said that? Compared to the animal on the bed with his brains splattered across the wall, she probably was, but she was far from feeling unharmed. She couldn’t imagine ever feeling normal again.

Police officers had surrounded her, asking a barrage of questions that blurred into a kaleidoscope of murmurs and static noise. They’d spoken to her gently, with concern etched deep into their faces, but it hadn’t made any difference. Her mind had refused to settle. Her thoughts skittered and skated like hot fat melting on a griddle until all she’d wanted to do was scream.

Daniel had been taken out of the bedroom by one of the officers and for that, she’d been eternally grateful. She was in no position to help him or to give him what he needed. She’d been taken by ambulance to the hospital and the nightmare had continued. More questions; more intrusive examinations. The phrase ‘rape kit’ became part of her vocabulary.

Afterwards, the doctor urged her to take a sedative and she was more than willing to comply—anything to stop her from remembering the nightmare that had suddenly become her life.

Because of the lateness of the hour, she’d been kept in the hospital overnight. It was the next day before she’d been well enough to see Daniel. A part of her still wished she hadn’t.

She’d cried out in anguish in the visitors’ room at the police station when they’d brought him from the cells. The sight of his blank expression, his dead eyes, his refusal to say a word haunted her even now.

Where was her beautiful son?
The boy who laughed and joked and teased? The boy who was always telling a story, who couldn’t be solemn if he tried?
What had they done to him?

She hoped and prayed with quiet desperation that his emptiness was a temporary thing; that once he was home and in a familiar environment, he would return to something that resembled his normal self.

She never expected him to forget what happened. Heavens,
she
couldn’t forget it. But she hoped the resilience of his youth would help him put it behind him in the best way he could. The fact that there were bloodstains still on the carpet didn’t help, but she’d done her best to remove them—even Trevor had tried.

At the thought of her husband, she sighed anew. Fresh waves of pain and despair washed over her. She clung to the edge of the sink, increasing the pressure until her fingers hurt. She didn’t know what to do about Trevor. Every time he looked at her, he grew angry.

It wasn’t that he blamed her for what happened, but the mere sight of her looking so depressed and withdrawn reminded him of the attack and how he hadn’t been there to prevent it. The guilt of it was eating him alive. He’d told her as much amidst sobs of anguish three nights ago.

And then there was Jason.
Oh, God. Her poor little boy. He walked around the house like a ghost, lost and bewildered. It was almost as if he didn’t recognize them anymore. She could hardly blame him. The family he’d known was gone; disintegrated like ashes in the wind. How could she make this better? She didn’t know how to fix it, to make it better, to help him like he needed.

She’d always been the strong one, the one that had remained calm in the face of a crisis; the one they’d turned to; the one they expected to make things better, to put them back on track. Now, she didn’t know what to do to help any of them. She couldn’t even help herself.

She’d been on edge since her return home, feeling numb and detached and exhausted. Nothing felt real. Nothing felt safe. The feelings were foreign and frightening. She’d become a stranger watching her life through a lens that wouldn’t focus and she had no idea what to do about it.

* * *

Josie checked the time on her watch and frowned. Her two o’clock appointment was late. If there was something that irritated her to no end, it was tardiness. It wasn’t fair to her other patients who arrived on time and were then forced to wait.

During the past week and a half, she’d done her best to push thoughts of Daniel and Chase from her mind and had been wholly unsuccessful. She didn’t need a therapist to tell her the bad mood she’d been in since she’d last seen them had everything to do with both Chase and the tragic circumstances that had once again brought them together.

The phone on the desk near her elbow shrilled, breaking the silence in her office. Whilst she was contracted to the Rural Health Authority, it was her responsibility to locate suitable premises to work from. She’d been lucky to find office space in an old weatherboard home that had been converted to suites for professionals.

A doctor, a physical therapist and a chiropractor also shared the house, each with a generously proportioned room and a shared reception area. For a small additional fee, Josie had the use of the services of Moira Barnes, the clinic’s ageing but oh-so-elegant secretary.

The terms of Josie’s contract with the Health Authority meant that she was obligated to see any patient they referred to her. In return, she was entitled to keep most of the fees her patients generated, less a small percentage that was remitted back to the Health Authority. In addition, she was entitled to see other patients who came to her from other sources.

The phone rang again and she picked up the receiver. “Josie Munro.”

“Josie, it’s Moira. I have Detective Barrington on line three.”

Josie’s heart lurched. Stealing a breath, she took the call. “Hi, Chase.”

“Josie, I’m glad I caught you.”

His familiar, deep tones triggered another flurry of nerves. He’d always had that effect on her, ever since high school when a chance meeting at an inter-school football game altered her world forever.

She’d been seventeen. He was a year older. The charming smile, the teasing glint from his emerald-green eyes had catapulted her head over heels in love. Now she frowned at the memory and forced it from her mind. She was upset at Chase for so many reasons she might never feel kindly toward him again.

“What is it, Chase?” Her tone was distinctly unfriendly.

“It’s about Daniel Logan. His matter was mentioned in court today. His lawyer has requested Daniel undergo a psychological assessment and the request has been granted. The prosecutor has contacted me. He wants you to do an assessment for the Crown. As the defendant, Daniel has a right to silence, but if the defense seeks to present a psych report, in the interests of fairness, the Crown will also tender one.”

“Why me? I’m sure there are plenty of psychologists more qualified. Have you called anyone in Grafton?” she said, referring to the nearby city that was four times as big as Watervale.

“No. I want you.”

Josie’s heart leaped into her throat and then she silently cursed under her breath.
Did he mean…?
She couldn’t fall for that. It wasn’t possible he felt the same way she did. Besides, she was mad at him. She refused to yearn for things to be different.

“I-I’m not sure I’m the best person for the job. I’ve never—”

“Daniel’s mother called me. She asked me about you. She wanted to know who you were. Daniel’s barely spoken since your initial interview, but he’s been asking for you. Apart from the
doli incapax
issue, the prosecutor wants your report to include an opinion on whether the boy’s fit to stand trial.”

“
Doli
what? I don’t have a clue what that means. Like I told you, I’ve never done any court work before.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound pompous.”

He sounded genuinely apologetic and Josie modified her tone. “So, what
does
it mean?”

“
Doli incapax
is a Latin term that means incapable of criminal intention or malice. The law presumes a child under the age of fourteen doesn’t know their actions might be wrong in a criminal sense, such as shooting a man dead. It’s up to the prosecution to prove the child has the mental capacity to form this understanding. If they don’t, the case will be thrown out.”

Josie closed her eyes and supported her head in her hands. The memories of that awful night, the memories Daniel could never erase, crowded her mind until she could barely hear the rest of what Chase said. The bleak desperation, the fear, the uncertainty in the young boy’s eyes—it broke her heart anew.

“I know you think I had a choice in laying charges against the boy, but the fact is I—”

“Okay, I’ll do it,” she said, cutting him off, not wanting to hear his explanation. “When do you need it?”

“The matter’s been stood over for a couple of months to enable both parties time to obtain their reports. Right now, he’s out on bail. I believe he’s at home…with his family.”

The way his voice trailed off, Josie knew he wanted to say something more, but after taking down the contact details of Daniel and his mother, she forced herself to end the call. She understood that Chase had only been doing his job, but she didn’t have to like it. Besides, she was still angry at him for not bothering to explain his abrupt departure from her life. As much as she wished it were different, the hurt he’d caused just wouldn’t go away.

* * *

Trevor Logan tilted the beer glass toward his mouth and emptied it. He swiped at the froth left behind on his lips and promptly ordered another. He’d been at The Bullet since the sun had gone down. It was now going on for ten. His eyes had long since blurred over and his legs just wouldn’t move like they should. But no matter how drunk he got, the pain just wouldn’t go away. Even the alcohol taunted him.

Every time he closed his eyes, he replayed the scene in his head. He might not have witnessed the attack, but the police gave him enough details of what had happened and the rest he’d pieced together.

It had been morning before they’d reached him. He’d been on the road for twelve hours and had pulled into a truck stop for the night. He’d turned off the two-way, set his alarm for six and then settled down to sleep. Three or four beers and some quiet music on his iPod usually did the trick.

He’d spoken to Kelly and his boys before he’d gone to sleep and had then switched his phone off.

He should have pushed harder to be home.
If he’d been there, this never would have happened. His wife would be the happy, chirpy woman she’d always been and his boys would be driving him insane. Their rousing was always done with little rancor, but it happened all the same. Now, he would kill to see them rumble around. It would reassure him that his world hadn’t been tilted off its axis. It would assure him they were normal.

Normal?
Who was he fucking kidding? His family would never be normal again. They’d had the life torn out of them and ripped to shreds. To make things worse, he couldn’t even hunt down the animal who’d done it. The prick was dead and good riddance to the filthy scum, but Trevor couldn’t help but wish he’d been given the opportunity to put a bullet in the son of a bitch. He wouldn’t have stopped at just one.

The bartender placed another glass in front of him and Trevor murmured his thanks. He reached for his wallet, but the barman stayed his hand.

“It’s all right, mate. This one’s on me.”

Trevor bit his lip against an immediate surge of anger, but merely nodded his thanks. The barman’s pity infuriated him. There was nowhere he could go to escape it. Everywhere he turned, people knew he was the husband of the woman who’d been raped by a monster fresh out of jail. They knew he was the father of the boy who’d murdered the prick.

It wasn’t like they blamed Daniel for his actions. Most of them were more than happy to admit they’d have done exactly the same thing. But Trevor couldn’t help but notice the occasional frown sent his way, the look of calculation in the eyes of some of the men as they shook their heads and muttered that it wouldn’t have happened if he’d been there.

As if he didn’t know that.
As if it weren’t tearing him up inside, the guilt staring back at him every morning and weighing his gut down every night. He needed to be strong, for his wife, for his boys.

The problem was, he couldn’t be. He couldn’t even look at them without imagining the horror of what had happened and that made him furious all over again. Not at them, never at them, but he couldn’t be near them, either. He didn’t want to punish them, but he had to stay away. For the very sake of his sanity which he was barely clinging to, he had to stay away.

* * *

At the other end of the scarred wooden bar, Chase took a sip of his drink. The single malt whiskey slid down his throat in a ribbon of smooth, liquid fire. Try as he might, his thoughts kept circling back to Josie and he couldn’t help the yearning that filled him.
If only things had turned out differently…
If only the timing hadn’t been so bad.