Dying Declaration (45 page)

79

THEY HAD BEEN DRIVING
for hours and were now on the outskirts of New York City. Buster had bought the car they were riding in—a late model Oldsmobile with more than a hundred thousand miles on it—as soon as he had been released from jail. He bought it from a former “business acquaintance” with a promise to pay later. Buster’s credit was not so hot, so he couldn’t afford a car with tinted windows. This car didn’t even have power windows.

Buster was driving, and the radio was blaring hip-hop.

“You think the rev got our package yet?” Buster asked, raising his voice to be heard over the radio.

“Either today or tomorrow.”

“Tight.”

Buster drove on without talking, jammin’ to the music, replaying the whirlwind events of the last few days in his mind. He had been out of jail less than a week and had already committed enough crimes to revoke his probation forever. First, he had trespassed in Armistead’s house on Sunday night and assaulted the doctor. That same night, he and Armistead had retrieved the corpse—probably another felony of some type or another—then Buster broke into the dentist’s office to switch the dental records, undoubtedly another serious penal violation. So much for making like Mother Teresa.

Buster thought about the drive to the Blue Ridge Parkway. He had made Armistead drive the Olds, while Buster followed close behind in Armistead’s Lexus, the corpse stashed safely in the trunk. When they arrived at Lookout Peak, they placed the corpse in the driver seat, pushed Armistead’s car over the cliff, then climbed to the bottom, where the car had landed. They doused the car in gasoline and started a huge fire. The body had been burned beyond recognition. They drove back to a hotel in Suffolk, Virginia, where they both stayed on Monday so they could monitor the trial on the local news. Next they started their nonstop trip to New York today—Tuesday.

The plan was working perfectly. He and Thomas were free; the deputy commonwealth’s attorney was not. Life was good.

“Can I ask you something?” Sean Armistead reached over and turned down the radio.

Buster cast him a dirty look that Armistead didn’t seem to notice.
Why do these white boys always have to turn down the tunes when they talk?

“Why did you spare me on Sunday night?” Armistead asked.

Buster thought for a moment—not easy to do in the silence—his eyes glued to the road. He re-created the events of that night in his mind. “I looked in your eyes, Doc, just before your body made like a rag doll, and I saw fear. I saw your eyes beggin’
for forgiveness, the same way I did when I knelt by the side of the road and gave my life to Christ. I didn’t deserve no mercy,
and the thief on the cross didn’t deserve it either, but that didn’t stop Christ. I figured if Christ had mercy on me, I better have some on you. Christians don’t return hate for hate.” He paused and flashed a gold-toothed grin. “Guess God took my forearm off your neck.”

There was another prolonged silence. “You cool with that?” Buster asked.

“Yeah, Buster,” Armistead replied. “I’m cool with that.”

You’d better be,
Buster thought. Mercy did not come easy to him. Still, he was working on it, resisting the urge to finish the work he had started Sunday night.
Christians don’t return hate for hate,
he kept telling himself.

“Whatcha gonna do when we hit the city, Doc—now that you’re a dead man and all?”

“I’ll probably just see if I can get a new ID somehow and start life over. I might be able to still get my hands on some money from one of those Virginia Insurance Reciprocal accounts. And then—” Armistead paused, looking out the window—“I’ve just got to get alone for a while and think through some things.”

“Tight,” Buster said, turning the radio back up loud enough so the cars in the other lane could appreciate it. The whole interior throbbed.

Armistead reached over and turned the volume down again. Buster thought for a moment about breaking his hand. “One more thing,” Armistead said.

“Better be good, Doc. That’s my song.”

“I’ve been trying to get up the nerve to ask you this the whole trip.” Armistead fidgeted a little in his seat, then just spat it out. “Who was it we burned up in my car?”

Before Buster answered, he thought about A-town and smiled. God was so cool. If A-town hadn’t bragged to Buster about where he had stashed his murder victim, if Crawford hadn’t double-crossed Buster when he tried to reveal the location of the victim’s body, if the victim hadn’t been about the same size as Armistead, if A-town hadn’t told Buster about where he hid the dude’s dental records so Buster could make the switch—there were a lot of variables. Only God could make them all work out.

“Let’s just say,” Buster replied coyly, “that it helps to know where the bodies are buried.”

Then Buster laughed’a big, baritone, gold-toothed laugh. And Dr. Sean Armistead, though he probably failed to see the humor,
laughed right along with him.

80

IT IS,
THOMAS THOUGHT,
just as I remembered it, yet it will never be the same.
He slumped down on the living room couch and stared at Theresa sitting in the recliner. The trailer felt at once comfortable yet depressing. Reminders of Joshie permeated every square inch.

It was now four days after the miraculous acquittal, and Thomas and Theresa had just won the battle of the bedtime. Tiger,
rambunctious to the end, had finally put his head down on the pillow and stopped squirming. Though he only had a twin-size mattress, Stinky had insisted on lying down with Tiger as she had for the past four nights. At some point in time, Stinky would have to go back to sleeping in her own room, but that was not a battle either Thomas or Theresa was ready to fight just yet.

Even before the kids came home for good, Theresa had wisely taken the steps necessary for the family to try to get on with life. The room that Tiger had previously shared with Joshie was now just Tiger’s room. Theresa had packed all of Joshie’s stuff neatly away. And Tiger had wasted no time junking the room up.

“What’re you looking at?” Theresa asked, as she turned her attention from the television to Thomas.

“Nothin’,” he lied. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. He had put her through so much and wondered if she would ever forgive him.

“Yes, you were.”

“I swear.” Thomas held up his hand, as if taking an oath. Then he slowly stood, walked over to the recliner, and tentatively reached out to massage Theresa’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For everything.”

Theresa placed her hand on top of his. “I don’t blame you,” she said, her voice so soft that Thomas could barely hear the words. “But I don’t think I can ever stop blaming myself.”

The blunt honesty of her reply paralyzed Thomas. It made him heartsick to think that Theresa shouldered his blame. What choice did she have when Joshie got sick? How he wished that he could just return to the first day of the sickness. He would seek medical help immediately, save Joshie’s life, and allow Theresa to smile again.

Thomas loved this woman, after all these years, as much as the day they were married. Maybe more, after what they’d just been through. Together they would survive. But somehow he just couldn’t find the words to comfort her, the words he knew she needed to hear. He had never been good at speech makin’.

“Daddy,” Tiger whined from his bedroom. “Daddy!”

Thomas grunted. “That kid’s got the worst timin’ I ever saw.”

“Wanna trade him in?” Theresa asked.

Thomas didn’t answer. He was already on his way to the small bedroom.

“Will you lay down wif me,” Tiger asked, “and tell me the story of Abe-ham?”

“Shh,” Thomas said, holding his finger to his lips. “Your sister’s sleeping.”

Stinky’s bright blue eyes popped open. “No, I’m not,” she said cheerily. “Please! Pretty please!”

“Okay, okay,” Thomas said as he lay down on the floor next to the bed. He acted like he was doing them a big favor. But in truth, there was nothing in the world he would rather be doing. For the next ten minutes, he told the story of Abraham and Isaac, of the faith of an earthly father and the provision of a heavenly one. But then, as he got to the most exciting part,
the moment when Abraham was raising his knife to slay his own son, the moment when God stayed Abraham’s hand and provided a ram for the sacrifice instead of Isaac, a funny thing happened. Thomas’s words started coming out slower and slower, and then they started to slur, and then he wasn’t making any sense at all. And then, right in midsentence, he stopped talking altogether and started to snore.

Stinky nudged Tiger with her elbow and started to giggle. This, of course, got Tiger started too, and pretty soon the kids were both giggling like crazy.

When they had giggled themselves out, Tiger sat up on his elbow and looked down at his dad. “Should we wake him up?” Tiger asked.

“No,” Stinky said, “let him sleep. He’s had a long day.”

“Me too,” Tiger said as he plopped his head back down on the pillow. He reached over the side of the bed and placed his hand on his daddy’s chest. Then Tiger closed his eyes and started thinking his happy thoughts.

81

DENITA SAT AT THE DESK
in her study, paying bills. One eye was on the clock, the other on her cell phone. Friday night. This was supposed to have been the big day when Senator Crafton and a few other heavyweights met with the president to finalize the deal. Denita had talked to Catherine Godfrey at least five times yesterday just to make sure they had all their ducks in a row. Catherine had promised to call back today, no later than five o’clock.

She was already three hours late.

Denita thought about calling Godfrey again, leaving another message. But what good would that do? Instead, she stared at the phone and cursed under her breath. What could have gone wrong? What could possibly have taken so long?

She thought about her one Achilles heel—the RU-486. But she wouldn’t allow herself to dwell there. That was history. And with Charles pledged to silence, it was history that had never happened.

The phone rang, and Denita nearly jumped out of her skin. She answered it immediately, forgetting that she had planned on letting it ring a few times so she wouldn’t look too anxious.

“Congratulations,” the voice of Catherine Godfrey said. “They all liked the deal . . . Your Honor.”

“Your Honor.”
Those words sounded so sweet. And oh, how she had earned them.
Your Honor.
The fulfillment of a lifelong ambition.

“Thank God,” Denita sighed. She could hear the party in the background on the other end of the phone. “What took you so long?”
she asked.

Catherine made up a few weak excuses, then explained the process from here on out and assured Denita that the rest was just a formality.

“Okay,” Denita said, though she still found it hard to believe. “You sure the senator will never know?”

Catherine blew out an impatient breath. “He trusts me, Denita. How many times have we been through this? Everything about the RU-486 deal is buried; it’s just you, me—” she hesitated, her point not lost on Denita—“and Charles.”

“Then it’s over,” Denita promised. “I know Charles. And despite his many shortcomings, the guy is a man of his word.”

“Good,” Catherine said. “Because I still intend to start Georgetown Law School in the fall.”

It was, Denita knew, a tacit reference to their deal. And the silence on the phone indicated that Catherine was waiting for some confirmation.

“Georgetown Law School,” Denita said. “I’ll bet their graduates make great judicial law clerks.”

“Yeah,” Catherine quickly responded. “But I hear those jobs are hard to come by.”

Denita chuckled because it seemed like the proper thing to do.

Then Catherine added, almost as an afterthought, “What do you think really turned him around on this?”

Denita smiled and looked down at the pile of bills in front of her. She flipped through the top few, pulling out the one monthly bill for a service she had just canceled. The Westside Florist Shop. It had been expensive to pay them each of the past three months to deliver flowers and plant a few roses in the cemetery. But it had saved her the trip. And she wouldn’t have to worry about it any more. In many respects, it had been the best money she had ever spent.

“It was the flowers,” Denita said, her smile widening. “Definitely the flowers.”

The Oakley sunglasses were probably overkill, Charles decided. He was about two blocks from his “pulpit,” the corner of Atlantic Avenue and Virginia Beach Boulevard, wheeling his beloved green trash can down the sidewalk. He would be in his element soon,
holding forth for the tourists, and he didn’t want to be recognized as a lawyer. The media blitz following court on Monday had made him a minicelebrity, his face splashed all over local television. He therefore decided, as a precaution, to don the sunglasses so he could preach in anonymity, rising or falling with the merits of his argument, not the status of his fame.

He realized several blocks ago that there was no fame. Tourists and locals walked by as they always did, either ignoring him or looking at him like he was crazy. He would have ditched the Oakleys, but the sun was still low in the sky, and they did add an extra layer of cool.

It was the height of tourist season, and the hip-hop band was gettin’ down. A large and bemused crowd stood gawking at the whirlwind of spinning, jumping, and angry lyrics that the band had unleashed. Charles smiled his electric white smile and strained against his load.

It was good to be home.

He hadn’t been out here in what—two weeks? He started to feel the energy, the adrenaline that flowed when he was on a mission to save some souls. And this time, to make disciples. He promised himself that the next time God dropped a convert in his lap, Charles would do whatever it took to disciple that person. But still, after the events of the last few weeks, he also couldn’t shake this gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach, a constant reminder that he was very much alone.

He had reconciled himself to the fact that it was really over with Denita. They had been divorced for years. She now had an engagement ring. There was no turning the clock back on that relationship. At least they had parted this time on good terms,
even tender terms, something that he hadn’t experienced with Denita in years.

He would think about her often. And pray for her every night. But that chapter in his life was over.

He was also trying to reconcile himself to just being friends with the enigmatic Nikki Moreno, but that was considerably harder. He thought about her even more than Denita. He had been out here on the street dozens of times, had seen dozens of lives changed,
but the one lingering memory was that special night two weeks ago, that night of magic with Nikki Moreno. He would never forget the sidewalk chalk, her vulnerable sharing about her past, their walk on the beach. Even as he approached the spot where he had apologized that night, his mind brought her into sharp relief. The haunting brown eyes, the beautiful olive skin, that spirited laughter. The alluring sound of her high-energy voice.

“Mind if I tag along, handsome?”

Charles whirled around, nearly dropping the trash can, half-expecting there would be nobody there.

But it really was Nikki! More beautiful than he even remembered. He tried to play it cool but failed miserably . . . and broke into a huge smile.

“Nikki!” he exclaimed.

She spread her arms, as if to say “the one and only” and smiled her mischievous smile. “Need some company?”

Without thinking, Charles stepped forward and gave her a fierce hug, then caught himself and took a step back. “You bet,”
he said. “Could always use another heckler.”

“Maybe you can find one,” Nikki said. “But tonight, I’m coming to listen.”

Charles paused for a beat, stunned and excited. Then he began nodding, as if he expected this all along. “C’mon,” he said,
“let’s go do church.”

He turned and started wheeling the trash can again, this time with Nikki by his side.

“So what’re you preaching about tonight, handsome?”

Handsome.
He loved it when she called him that. “I think I’ll probably just tell a little story about two thieves on a cross.” He glanced sideways at Nikki, his eyes shielded by the shades. He tried to hide his excitement, but the electricity was coursing through his veins.
This could be her night. I sure wouldn’t mind discipling this one.

“I think you’ll probably like it,” he said.

Buster was coming at him with a knife, the gold tooth gleaming. As Buster raised his knife to strike, he broke into heinous laughter, and the gold-toothed grin became the dastardly smile of the deputy commonwealth’s attorney. “Answer the question!” Crawford screamed. “Answer the question!”

Thomas sat straight up, his wide eyes taking stock of the room. It was not his jail cell but Tiger’s room. Thomas was sitting next to Tiger’s bed, the light in the room was still on, but the kids were sleeping soundly.
How long had he slept? One hour? Two?

Thomas stood to leave the room but first bent over to kiss the kids. Stinky had her arm thrown over Tiger’s neck. Tiger’s arm was dangling off the bed and toward the floor where Thomas had been sleeping. He kissed them both on the cheek. They were angels. When they were sleeping.

Thomas walked groggily out to the living room and thought again about the words that Charles had spoken after the first day of trial. Faith, hope, and most importantly . . . love. He found Theresa, still awake, curled up on a corner of the sofa and reading. He sat down next to her, and she leaned against his chest.

“How long I been sleeping?” he asked, yawning.

“Couple hours.”

He tilted his head sideways and looked at the woman. “What’re you still doing up?”

“I was hoping you’d come back out.” Theresa paused, searching for the right words. “I’ve got something to tell ya.”

“Okay,” Thomas said. He drew her closer, sensing her emotional struggle.

“I didn’t want to tell you this with all this stuff going on,” Theresa said softly. “And I didn’t know what I’d do if you didn’t get out of jail . . .” She stopped midsentence, choking back tears. Thomas just held her, waiting for the emotions to pass.

He felt her take a deep breath. And then she said, “Thomas, I’m pregnant.”

Thomas squeezed her closer, then kissed the top of her head. “How long?” he asked.

“Two months.”

“Praise God,” Thomas said. He paused. “Better get you to a doctor. Get checked out.”

“Thanks,” she whispered.

He looked down at this wonderful woman in his arms.

They had both been deeply wounded by the loss of Joshie, and it showed.
Time,
Thomas thought,
and the promise of a new child will help us heal.
Today had been particularly hectic, and Theresa was looking tired. Her black hair was unwashed and stringy. Her eyes were red and puffy, partly from thinking of Joshie, partly from joy for the child within her. The tears were beginning to flow. Her skin was blotched with red marks where she had clawed at her neck, anxiously waiting for an opportunity to share this news with her husband.

To someone who didn’t know her, she might not look so great.
But she was carrying
his
baby, and she was the world’s best mother and wife. Others could think what they wanted, see what they wanted. But he knew the truth. He could see more than skin-deep. And to him, she was the most gorgeous creature God had ever created. No doubt about it.

To him, she simply looked beautiful.