Amber Morn (18 page)

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead.” Kent turned away, talked into the phone. “T.J.’s story is coming. We’re finally getting somewhere.”

Gripping his gun, Brad walked to Bailey and stood behind her, frowning at the monitor. “Send a blank email with the attachment. Put ‘T.J.’ in the subject line.”

Bailey hit some keys. Brad looked to Kent. “It’s done.” He motioned to Bailey to slide her chair away from the computer. “Don’t touch it again unless you’re told.”

She obeyed. Brad sauntered back to the counter. He smirked at Wilbur as he settled on the stool.

“The email’s coming to ya,” Kent told Vince.

Carla felt lightheaded.
Please, please
. They were so close… Kent stalked back to his table. “Shut up — just get the TV! Don’t call back till you do.” He smacked a button to end the call.

Brad made a popping sound with his lips. “John’s not bringing the TV?”

“No, somebody else.” Kent waved a hand. “He’ll be unarmed, and he ain’t coming inside. And ain’t none of us three going out there.”

Brad worked his jaw. “You letting some cop come —”

“I’m
handling
it, Brad!” Kent shoved to his feet. “Now let it be!” He eyed his son, fuming. “What matters is, not long from now, everybody’ll hear T.J.’s story. Once those reporters read the document, others will pick it up. It’ll be across the nation in an hour.”

Brad smirked. “That’s a start. How about getting T.J. out of prison? Look how long we’ve been here.”

Kent’s face turned to stone. “You’d better find yourself some patience, boy. Sometimes things take longer than expected.”

He eyed Carla and the girls, his lip curling. “Looks like we’ll be breaking up your little party.”

Carla closed her eyes.
Thank You, God!

“No, we’re not,” Brittany blurted.

Carla gawked at her daughter. They were teetering on a cliff here. One wrong move and the whole thing could give way.
“What?”

Brittany shot her a look, then fixed defiant eyes on Kent. Her mouth trembled. But she pulled her shoulders back and raised her chin.

“I’m not leaving without my mother.”

FORTY-ONE

Vince pressed back in his chair and puffed out a long breath.

Awareness of his body flicked on. The back of his shirt was damp. His muscles felt drained, and his left hand cramped from holding the phone. He flexed his fingers.

“Good job.” Justin took off his earphones.

Vince nodded and rose to greet the CRT commander. “Jack. Glad you’re here.”

“You’re going to need help with that exchange. Sounds like we got here just in time.”

Jack’s tone remained factual, but Vince saw the anxiety in his eyes. The CRT commander had four daughters at home, two of them teenagers. He was a tough guy on the job, but those girls had their daddy wrapped around their fingers.

“Yeah, you did.” A to-do list rapid-fired in Vince’s brain. “Right now I need to look at that email and send it on. In the meantime, can you get the ISP helicopter in the air?” He turned to Justin. “Call Al to locate a TV. Remind him I want this exchange kept from the media until it’s over.”

“Right.” Justin reached for the station phone. Jack headed for the lobby, tac radio in hand.

Vince sat down in front of the computer. Clicked over to his inbox. There sat the email with attachment.
Subject: T.J.

He opened the document and printed it. The hard copy would soon be tacked near the situation board. As the printer whirred, the words from Wicksell’s letter filtered through Vince’s mind.
“There is evidence that should have come out in court…”

Vince leaned forward.
Evidence? Okay, Wicksell. Show me.

Arms folded, he began to read.

FORTY-TWO

My Story

My name’s T.J. Wicksell. I didn’t kill Marya Whitbey. I couldn’t do that to anybody.

I’d never put this down on paper if I didn’t have to, because some of it’s embarrassing. But it ain’t half as bad as what they’re saying I did. So I just want to set the record straight for when my trial comes up.

I still can’t believe I have to go to trial! I can’t believe this is happening. Sometimes I wake up at night and think it’s all a nightmare. Any minute now I’ll wake up for REAL.

I met Marya at Mr. Kranck’s store sometime last summer. Every now and then I’d see her, and we’d talk. She was sweet and pretty. Treated her little girl, Keisha, real good. I got to liking Marya. I wanted to ask her out but figured she might say no until she got to know me a little better. I could tell Marya wasn’t the kind to just go out with anybody. I was going to have to earn her trust.

Every time I went into the store I hoped she was there.

That day in October I drove to the store to pick up some pasta and tomato sauce for my mom — she was making lasagna that night. Marya was there. I teased with Keisha, got her to giggling. It was cold outside, and Marya had a heavy bag to carry. I offered to take her home. She said okay.

I told myself while we drove I was going to ask her to go out. Maybe a movie or something. But she only lived about three blocks away, and we got there in no time. I did a U-turn and pulled up to the curb out front. Marya thanked me. I offered to take her bag inside for her, but she said no, she could manage. “What apartment’s yours?” I said, and she pointed to the second one on the left from the building’s front door.

I sat in my car and watched until I saw the light come on in that apartment.

My mom needed her groceries to make supper, and I knew she’d be mad if I hung around any longer. I drove away about a block, but then I got so ticked at myself for not asking Marya for a date. And how long would it be before I ran into her in the store again? I hadn’t even gotten her phone number.

I turned around to go back to her apartment. As I got to the building I noticed a driveway going around back. I turned left onto it. It led to a parking area. There were some cars there, but still a lot of empty spaces. I parked and went in the building through a back door.

On the right was a staircase. I went straight ahead and hit the front hallway. Then turned right.

Way down the end of the hall, I saw something really quick. Like someone’s foot as they disappeared around the corner. Then I heard fast footsteps, like somebody running up a staircase. I figured there must be another set of stairs down there, but didn’t think any more about it.

I headed toward the second apartment on my left. And then I started to get nervous, which isn’t natural for me. But I got to thinking what if Marya got mad at me for coming back? What if she told me never to come around her again? Then even if I saw her in the store, I wouldn’t be able to talk to her.

My head was thinking all these things while I stood about five feet away from the door. And suddenly I realized it didn’t look all the way closed. I walked over a little and looked at it. Yup. Open about an inch.

I heard Keisha crying.

I stood there, waiting to hear Marya’s voice, soothing Keisha like I’d heard her do in the store. But the little girl just kept on crying.

What should I do? I looked up and down the hall. Didn’t see anybody.

So I walked forward until I could touch the door. Keisha was still crying.

I knocked on the door. No answer.

Right then I got really scared, like something… I don’t know, I just knew something. I almost turned and ran. But I was worried about Marya. So I knocked again and called her name. Still no answer.

Next thing I knew I had the door pushed open. I stuck my head inside. “Marya?”

Nothing but Keisha crying.

I saw the living room and the kitchen past it. The bag of groceries sat on the counter. To my right was a little hallway and a room — probably the bedroom. Keisha’s crying was coming from there.

Something felt real bad. Inside I knew something had happened. My heart started beating hard, but I couldn’t just leave. I went down the hall and looked around the corner into the bedroom.

There was Keisha. She had red on her all over. Wet red.

Marya was on the floor on her side. Not moving. She was bleeding. I saw cuts all over her body.

She looked dead.

I remembered that foot I saw in the hallway, and somebody running up the staircase.

I went crazy scared. I know I should have called the police. And should have gotten Keisha out of there. It’s easy to think that now, but I’m telling you when something that scary happens, your brain
forgets
to think. You just
act.
I started to turn and run, but then I saw the knife on the floor. My brain cleared for just a second, and I thought — what if Keisha cuts herself with it?

I jumped into the room, picked up the knife by the handle, and threw it on the bed, where Keisha couldn’t reach it. Then I tore out of the apartment and headed for the nearest door of the building. I ran out the front, my legs just pumping, still not thinking straight. Then I realized my car was in the back. I ran around the building. I must have wiped my hand on my shirt around then, but I don’t remember. I jumped in my car and drove out of there as fast as I could. I didn’t stop until I got home.

When I drove up to our house I noticed the blood on my shirt. I ripped it off so Mom wouldn’t see the blood. I balled it up and took it inside the house. I stuck it under my bed and threw on another shirt. Mom was already calling me from the kitchen, mad that I’d taken so long. I told her I was sorry and that I’d had to go to a second store because Mr. Kranck didn’t have the sauce she wanted.

I couldn’t eat the lasagna that night.

Two days later the paper came out with a drawn picture of somebody seen running to a car in the parking lot of Marya’s building. The picture looked like me. The cops came the next day. They wanted to talk to me. That
really
scared me because I realized how stupid it was not to call them in the first place. Now I’d look guilty just because I’d kept quiet. I told them I didn’t know who killed Marya. Which was true. They came back with a search warrant. They found my shirt under the bed. It had Marya’s blood on it.

I told them this story after they arrested me, but nobody listened. I told my lawyer too. I hope they’ll listen in my trial.

FORTY-THREE

Mother
. The word felt weird to Brittany. First time she’d ever called Carla that, even though it was true. It was hard, after sixteen years of thinking of one woman as Mom to suddenly call someone else
Mother
.

Brittany’s legs shook. Her breathing sounded more like panting, and that made her mad. She didn’t
want
to look weak in front of hateful,
disgusting
Kent.

He pushed to his feet and headed for her like some stalking lion.

“Kid, you better watch yourself,” Brad said.

Brittany clamped her jaw, pressed her feet to the floor — and somehow managed to look Kent in the eye.

He’d left his gun on the table where he’d been sitting, near the front of the café. Purposely, for sure. Just to remind them all how out of reach it was for them. Meanwhile, Mitch and Brad pointed their weapons at the group. Cowards.

Sweat shone on Kent’s ugly face. And she could smell him. All ratty and thick like a horse barn.

He stopped three feet away. His face twisted. “What is this ‘I won’t leave without my mother’?” His eyes drove daggers at her. “You’ll leave when I tell you to leave.”

“She will,” Carla blurted. “She
will
.”

“No, I won’t.” Brittany stared at Kent. “Not without
her
.”

“Hey, girl.” Mitch shifted his weapon in Brittany’s direction. “Better get out while the gettin’s good.”

Kent swung his head around to give Mitch a black look —
I’ll handle this.
He sniffed and turned back to Brittany. “I don’t have time for your games. You’ll do what I say, case closed. Now I’m going down to the bathroom — do you
mind
?”

Mitch sniggered.

Off Kent stomped, cursing under his breath like the cultured man he was.

Down the hall, the bathroom door opened and closed.

Ali gawked at Brittany like she’d gone crazy.

Come on, Ali, what would
you
do if
your
mother was in here?