28
Sometimes life is a funny thing. Just when you think you’ve got it all figured out, that there is no God, that there is no such thing as fate, that all things are random and that there is no order to the world, something happens to shake all that sureness to the core. I had arrived back home in the early hours on Friday morning and fallen into an immediate and deep slumber. I hadn’t worked out all the details of my plan to confront Fordham during my return trip from Canada but I was confident enough to be able to put my mind at ease, at least temporarily.
As it turned out, all my planning was completely unnecessary. At nine a.m. my bedside phone startled me awake. “Yeah … hello,” I mumbled.
“Jack, did I wake you?” Christine Darrow asked. There was a smile in her voice.
“No problem,” I said, swinging my feet to the floor. A call from Christine, and on a holiday yet, had to be important. “What’s up?”
“The best possible news I can imagine,” she said. “I just got a call from Mandlin. They got a report back late last night from the lab doing the forensics for them and you’re never going to guess what they found.”
Oh, yes, I could guess all right. But did I dare believe it was the news I hoped for beyond all else. “Don’t tease me, girl,” I said.
“A search of John Croop’s place in Fairmont turned up trace evidence of Charlene Lamont’s presence. It links him directly to her and gives an incredible degree of support to Callie’s version of what went down between them. We won’t know for sure until Monday morning when Mandlin reports to the judge about what’s come to light but I’d bet large that the charges against Callie will be stayed. It’s fantastic news, Jack.”
“I’m … I don’t know what to say, Christine. It’s wonderful.”
“You bet it is, my friend. Anyway, have a great weekend. I’ll see you in court on Monday morning.”
I could hardly believe it had worked. It now looked to be a near certainty that my phony evidence against Croop would set Callie free.
So now I was left with another dilemma. The evidence I had planted against an innocent man meant a guilty one was free to continue doing whatever his sick mind turned to. Even if I was callous enough to ignore such knowledge, I wasn’t the only one in possession of it. Kat Stedman knew enough to bring my tenuous world crumbling down around me in a heart beat.
Fordham had to be dealt with one way or the other. That was a given. And it was pretty clear it couldn’t be done by way of legal process; Croop’s apparent guilt in the Charlene Lamont matter had to remain intact.
In some manner I also had to come to terms with Kat. Could I count on her to keep what she knew to herself? A big question. And not one I could afford to leave unanswered.
I ate a late breakfast at the diner and waited until it looked like Kat was reasonably unburdened with work before signaling her for more coffee. When she brought the coffee pot to my table and topped up my cup I said, “Have you got a minute to talk?”
She delivered the pot of coffee back to the burner and returned a moment later to sit opposite me in the booth. “Has something happened?” she asked.
“Yeah, there’s been some developments.” I went on to tell her what Christine Darrow had told me.
“It’s great news for you,” she said. But there was no enthusiasm in her voice. She was fully aware of the real facts.
“I know this puts you in a difficult position, Kat. But I want you to know I intend to deal with Fordham.” I then told her about what had occurred when I followed Fordham the night before. “There’s no doubt in my mind now that you’re right about this guy. Christ only knows how many women may have fallen victim to him. I can’t just let him carry on with what he’s doing.”
“But you can’t go to the law. They’ll immediately figure him for Charlene’s disappearance and that’ll destroy Callie’s justification for killing Croop.”
“I know. Whatever I do has to be done strictly on my own. I felt I owed you an explanation for what’s got to happen but you have to promise me that no one – ever – will be told a word of this.”
“God, Jack, please tell me you’re not planning to kill him,” she said, hardly able to speak the words, never mind believe them.
I felt about the same way myself. “I don’t see that I have any choice. I can’t let the law deal with him and I can’t just let him be. Besides, it’s not like he doesn’t deserve it.” I couldn’t help but reflect on the fact that I was seriously contemplating another outright murder. This would make it two for me. What had I become that I could willingly take another human life and justify it simply because it suited my purposes?
Kat stared at a spot on the table between us. “But you’re appointing yourself judge, jury, and executioner. You don’t have that right, no matter what the circumstances. Jesus … actually killing somebody. I mean, I know he deserves to pay for what he’s done and all but …”
“Kat, there can’t be any misgivings about this. You’re either with me on this or you’re not. Which is it?”
She was silent for several long moments, staring deep into my eyes. “Okay,” she whispered, “I’m with you. I give you my word I won’t say anything.”
“That means not even to your son. No one means
no
one.” I waited while she absorbed my words.
She nodded, looking miserable but determined. “I won’t say a word - not even to Devon. But what exactly are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet. It’s probably best that, from now on, I keep whatever happens to myself. The less you know, the less implicated you are.”
“I feel like I’m already
plenty
implicated,” she responded.
“It’ll be all right. Just remember, this conversation never happened.” I left some money on the table and stood to leave.
“Be careful, Jack,” she said. “Don’t underestimate RJ. He’s a snake, and a very dangerous one.”
I didn’t doubt that she was right about that. It was unlikely that dealing with Fordham, whatever that might entail, would prove to be an easy endeavor. And, despite what I had done to Reuben Henderson that had resulted in my going to prison, I still did not regard myself as an inherently violent person.
Perhaps I was kidding myself. After all, neither my history nor my current plans supported that contention.
29
As Christine Darrow had predicted, on Monday morning Mandlin made his announcement. “Your Honor, the prosecution has come into possession of certain material that may have a direct bearing on these proceedings. In light of these developments it is our recommendation that the charges against Mrs. Parmenter be stayed until such time as an assessment of the material can be made.”
“Very well,” said the judge. He had already been fully apprised of the details. “And what is your recommendation with respect to Mrs. Parmenter’s prisoner status?”
“In view of the serious nature of the charges, Your Honor, we believe the defendant should be held in custody pending the outcome of the assessment.”
The judge looked to the defense table. “Ms. Darrow?”
“Your Honor, as we’ve maintained since her arrest, Mrs. Parmenter does not represent a flight risk. She presented herself voluntarily to face these charges and has thus demonstrated her willingness to see the matter through to completion. We feel very strongly that she should be permitted to await the prosecution’s further deliberations out of custody.”
“I’m inclined to agree,” the judge said. “Mrs. Parmenter, you are free to go with the proviso that you remain in the County until the matter before this court is resolved; this may mean either a resumption of these trial proceedings or a dismissal of charges. Do you understand this?”
Wide-eyed and trembling Callie answered, “Yes, sir, I understand.”
“Very well. This court is adjourned.”
When the judge pounded his gavel Callie broke down in tears. Darrow gently steered her from the defense counsel’s table to where I stood. I wrapped my arms around her and held her tightly while she sobbed against my chest. There are no words to describe how good it felt to embrace her.
Staying the proceedings, of course, didn’t mean that Callie had been found innocent or that the charges against her had been dropped, but merely that the action was being suspended while Mandlin and his crew mulled over the new evidence.
I was thrilled that things were progressing as I had hoped they would, but it did not mean we were out of the woods. Not by a long shot.
As much as I hated the thought of letting her out of my sight, taking Callie to the hotel I had been staying at in Colville was not an option. I called Miles about what to do and he confirmed what I suspected he would. “I’m sorry, Jack,” he said. “I talked to Betty about the two of you stayin’ here with us but she’s just not comfortable with it. I know of a little place not far from us that’s empty, though, and I think you could probably rent it at a decent price. Why don’t I look into it for you and, in the meantime, you can bring Callie back here?”
“Thank, Miles, that’d be great,” I said.
Callie was sad at the prospect of me having to keep living on my own but I assured her it wouldn’t be for long. On the way home we stopped at a nice restaurant in Lewiston and spent a couple of hours relaxing and talking. By the time I dropped her back with the Wilsons and returned to the hotel it was late in the evening and I was ready for bed. Sleep was elusive, however. My mind churned until well into the wee hours with thoughts of RJ Fordham and what needed to be done. One thing was certain: I couldn’t allow him to continue on the way things were for long. Who knew what might happen during the time his actions remained unimpeded?
I was awakened after only a few hours of sleep by a gentle knock at my door. When I opened it Callie stood there looking shyly ravishing. I stood back and allowed her to enter. Without a word she undressed and crawled beneath the covers of my meager cot. It really wasn’t big enough to accommodate two adults comfortably but we spent most of our time for the rest of that day sufficiently engaged so as to be indifferent to such concerns.
* *
As badly as I needed to focus my thoughts on the problem of RJ Fordham I could not deny Callie the attention she needed. Each morning for the next few days she arrived at my room at the same time with a picnic basket full of food, and Bix in tow, and we would enjoy long walks along the banks of Cameron Creek. They were idyllic days and, if not for the ugly thought of what lay ahead of me, I could have happily spent the remainder of my life doing nothing else.
It would have been an immense help if I could have talked to Callie about what I was facing but that, of course, was out of the question. She was like a child now in many ways, not the least of which were her short temper and easily activated frustration level. Since our reunion I had witnessed several minor episodes of Callie’s loss of temper. Although they were not significant in terms of substance they were certainly out of character for her – or at least out of character for the person she had once been. One such incident occurred while she was trying to use a can opener. When she couldn’t get it to work properly she cursed loudly and threw the device at a wall. In another case she had beckoned Bix to come to her while we were on one of our walks but his interest had been captured by something and he ignored her calls. She exploded with anger, chasing after him and yelling loudly – totally overreacting to the situation. I was made to wonder just what Croop had really done that resulted in Callie reacting with enough rage to kill him. After all, knowing what I now knew, it was unlikely she had been in a life or death situation. And what would it take for something similar to happen again? It was a discomforting thought.
Although I loved my wife with every fiber of my being I found myself wondering if her volatile temperament might be our undoing.