Let Darkness Come (14 page)

E
rin sidesteps through the lunch line, keeping her gaze pinned to her tray as much as possible. Behind the sneeze guard, a plastic plate moves from gloved hand to gloved hand as bored cafeteria employees scoop up a spoonful of hash, an apple, and a sandwich from serving bins. The food goes on the plate; the plate moves down the line until it lands on Erin's tray, next to a glass of yellow pseudo-punch. She lifts the tray and is about to turn when the big woman to her right gives her a shove. Erin lurches forward, managing to hold on to her tray only by some kind of miracle. But the motion spills the punch, drenches her meal, and splashes her uniform.

A uniform she won't be allowed to change until next Saturday.

“Too bad,” says the woman, a barrel-chested behemoth called Big Shirley. “Guess you should pull your nose outta the air and watch where you're goin'.”

Erin draws a ragged breath and forbids herself to tremble. Ignoring the boisterous whoops from the crowd gathered around the first two tables, she skirts the center of the cafeteria and heads toward an empty space near the back of the room.

How many more days of this can she endure?

Careful not to turn her back on the crowd, she slides onto the bench and drops a napkin into the pool of punch on her plate. The sandwich is soggy, the white bread now stained the color of apple juice, but she'll eat every bite. If she doesn't gulp down her food, the wolves will begin to circle,
eventually attacking and helping themselves to everything on her plate.

She grabs the apple and tucks it beneath the elastic waistband of her pants, hoping to hide it until later. She's devouring the hash when a shadow falls across her plate. She looks up to see Big Shirley and Wilma standing at the end of the table. Wilma, who stands five foot ten and is at least a welterweight, is moving her jaw and curling her mouth as if she's planning to spit.

Erin closes her eyes, not wanting to watch.

“Hey, Princess,” Shirley says. Her voice is soft, and terrifying in its intensity. “Aw, lookee that. The Princess had an accident with her tray.”

Erin opens her eyes as gremlins of panic nip the back of her neck. Something tells her it wouldn't be wise to ignore these two.

“What'd ya do, Princess?” Wilma asks, her rough voice a pitiful imitation of Shirley's. “Pee in your plate?”

Erin narrows her eyes, pretending indifference even as anxiety squeezes her pounding heart. “You know what happened.”

“Moi?”
Big Shirley widens her eyes and looks at Wilma. “Is she accusing me of something?”

Wilma leans two hands on the table and slants forward, her bulk casting a long shadow over Erin's tray. “I think she's saying you're uncouth.”

“We can't have that.” Shirley glances toward the doorway. “We gotta have couth. So no one's allowed to spill around here.”

Like moths drawn to a light, other inmates leave their places and approach Erin's table. She can see them from the corner of her eye; she can smell the tension, hear it crackling in the air.

“Why don't you leave me alone?” She picks up her sandwich and attempts the glare she's been rehearsing in the darkness of her cell. “Go back and eat with your friends.”

“I would—” Big Shirley draws close enough for Erin to smell the acrid scent of underarm perspiration “—but my friends are feelin' a little uncomfortable with a princess in their midst.”

“I never said—” Erin begins, but Shirley's big hand slams her head to the tray. A shower of lights sparks through her field of vision and something slices into her tongue.

“Lick it up,” Shirley commands, her grip like a vise on Erin's neck. “Eat, Your Royal Highness.”

Erin tries to answer, but in her hunched position she can't draw enough air into her lungs to push out the words. The wet sandwich is oozing into her left eye, the wet napkin is cold against her face, and punch is running into her nose. Her face missed most of the hash, but apparently someone found a fresh supply, for a wet gob of the stuff lands in her hair, smelling of potatoes and corned beef. When she tastes the metallic tang of blood, she realizes she has bitten her tongue.

“Eat it!” someone calls, and the air fills with the sound of female fury. “Eat it, eat it, eat it!”

Erin struggles, striving to reach Shirley, to connect with anyone, but the hand at the back of her head does not budge. A sob rises in her throat, breaking from her lips in a gurgling rasp, but still no one comes, no whistle blows, no representative of sanity appears. This place is off the radar, removed from reasonable society, a limbo where law and order are restored as a last resort and decency is unknown….

Food pelts Erin's head, her shoulders, her arms. She lowers her hands to her sides and weeps, surrendering to the humiliating indignity. Jeffrey's brutality, as bad as it was, was never like this. That was man against woman, but this…this feels like the worst kind of betrayal.

The hand on her scalp contracts, grips her hair, and pulls her head up, nearly lifting Erin from the bench. Her hands rise, flailing at the arms holding her prisoner, and in that instant a fist swings toward her midsection.

The welterweight.

Realizing the hopelessness of her situation, Erin gives up the struggle and succumbs to the darkness.

B
riley stops by Kate Barnhill's desk on her way to her office on Monday morning. “Hey, there.” Kate pulls off her reading glasses and gives Briley a speculative smile. “You look like you had a relaxing weekend.”

“I did.” Briley tosses her head and grins. “Believe it or not, Timothy had the weekend off, so we went to the theater Saturday night and watched old movies all day Sunday.”

“What show did you see?”

“
The Lion King
.” Briley sighs at the memory of the extravagant production. “If you haven't seen it, it's a must. It's simply spectacular.”

“By the way—” Kate's eyes light with calculation “—you haven't told me what your boyfriend does. With the hours he keeps, he must be…what, a hospital resident?”

Briley shakes her head. “Not even close.”

“He can't be a lawyer. I know you. You're not that fond of the law.”

“You're right on that score.” Briley sets her laptop case on Kate's desk. “I hate being secretive, but his work is sort of confidential.”

“What, his position?”

“His client list.”

“Wait.” Kate lifts a finger. “He's a personal trainer.”

Briley laughs. “He's a sober companion. Addicts pay him to stick by them until, you know, they can handle life without drugs.”

Kate's face goes blank with surprise. “You're kidding. That's a job?”

“A pretty good one, too. He earns more than you'd think.”

“As much as a lawyer?”

“About as much as a slow-moving associate. The money's good, but the hours are awful and the training's a nightmare.”

“Wow.” Kate drops her glasses to her desk. “How do you train for a job like that? Take counseling classes?”

“You overcome an addiction yourself.” Briley pulls her laptop case from the desk and gestures down the hall. “I'd better get busy.”

“Wait.” Kate digs through some papers on her desk, then hands Briley a note. “I took this off the answering machine. The call came in yesterday morning.”

Briley glances at the name. “The Cook County Sheriff's Office? They called on a Sunday?”

“The infirmary. Apparently your client ended up there this weekend.”

Briley grimaces. “This case is killing me. I feel so lost, and the clock is ticking. I have a pretrial hearing in three weeks, and I've barely begun my investigation. I filed a petition to get money from the court, but that petition's been held up…. I'm afraid I'm going to have to file for a continuance.”

“You need me?” Kate smiles. “All you have to do is ask.”

“Could you give me a hand? William's agreed to help, and Franklin said I could use staff members if they were available—”

“I'll make myself available,” Kate says. “Just tell me what you need, and I'll get to it. I think it's awful that they've left you alone to handle this case.”

“Thanks.” Briley waves the phone message. “I guess I'd better go see what happened to my client.”

Ten minutes later, she is on the phone with a nurse at the jail. The nurse remembers Erin Tomassi, and assures Briley that her client has returned to her cell.

“Was she badly hurt?”

“A few bruises, that's all. Nothing unusual. Sometimes the women get into fights. Not as often as the men, but still…”

“Why'd they fight?”

“Like they need a reason. You ever seen a pack of wolves around a baby moose? That's what it's like in there. The strong ones circle the new ones, the weak ones. If the newbies don't toughen up, they go down. Your girl, though—she gave as good as she got. She broke Big Shirley's arm.”

Briley blinks. “She did what?”

“I didn't see it, but boy, did I hear about it. Apparently your girl put up with a lot, but when Wilma almost knocked the wind out of her, she came to life and punched Wilma right back. Then she spun around and snapped Shirley's arm across her knee. Broke it like a twig.”

“You sure you're talking about Erin Tomassi? Small blonde, probably wears a size four?”

The nurse chuckles. “Yeah, I was surprised, too. But now the others will think twice before picking on her.”

Briley runs her hands through her hair, distressed by the thought of Erin suffering abuse even behind bars. “So you think she'll be okay from now on?”

“I said they'd think twice. I didn't say they wouldn't come after her. Listen—” the nurse lowers her voice “—you could ask the sheriff to place her in isolation, but you'd be doing her no favors. Sooner or later, she'll have to come out, and then the others will resent her even more. She's better off toughing it out where she is. Trust me.”

Briley has no choice.

 

Briley slips out of her office and heads down to the law library. William is working at his desk, but he looks up when she enters the room. “Ms. Lester.” His smile lifts the corners of his mustache. “How goes the war?”

“Slow but sure,” she says, dropping into a nearby chair.
“Have you had a chance to look over your copy of the transcript of the conversation between Erin and Dr. Lu?”

“Spent the better part of Saturday morning reading it. Also did a bit of background research on my own.”

Briley makes a face. “I didn't mean for you to spend personal time working on this.”

“No problem—it was fascinating.” With a flourish, he pulls several pages from a file in his desk drawer and begins to read. “Erin Wilson Tomassi graduated from Chicago State University in 2003. Business major. Honor roll. Pledged no sororities, but in the yearbook she is featured on a page for student government leaders.”

Briley laces her fingers. “Thanks, but I've got all that.”

“You may not have this—in the transcript, your client mentions something about trouble with the school, so I did some checking. Turns out that in September 2000, a Douglas Haddock filed a complaint with student security against sophomore Erin Wilson, claiming she injured him in an assault. The next day he dropped the charges, so school officials never notified the police.”

“What sort of injury was it?”

“No record of the details. When Haddock dropped the charges, the school didn't pursue the investigation.”

Briley makes a note on her legal pad. “Any current leads on Doug Haddock?”

“I searched him on the Internet. Haddock graduated in 2001 and is living in Kankakee with his wife and two kids. He runs a printing company down there.” He hands Briley another sheet of paper. “Everything you need, even his current address and a map.”

“Thanks, William.” She gives him a grateful smile. “You've saved me a ton of work.”

“No problem.” He slips his hands into his cardigan pockets. “So, chief—what's next on our agenda?”

Briley picks up the map and turns it sideways, trying to get her bearings. “I think I need to visit Kankakee.”

 

Keenly aware of the passing hours, Briley clears her desk after lunch and heads toward the parking lot. Kankakee lies about an hour south of Chicago, and once the traffic thins on the interstate she finds herself relaxing behind the wheel. She hasn't made an appointment with Mr. Haddock, but she did call the Quick Print Company to confirm that he'd be in town and at work this afternoon.

The young woman who answered the phone assured her that Doug Haddock hadn't missed a day of work in three years. “He's a great guy,” the woman said after Briley introduced herself. “So if you're thinking about suing him—”

“I don't sue people,” Briley interrupted, keeping her voice light. “I'm a defense attorney, and no, your boss isn't in trouble. I just need a few minutes of his time.”

“Then come on in,” the woman chirped. “I'm sure Doug would be happy to help.”

The man sounds like a real salt-of-the-earth type. Why, then, did his encounter with Erin Wilson result in a complaint to student security?

After entering Kankakee, Briley finds the Quick Print Company in a strip mall at the edge of town. She enters the building and smiles at the girl behind the counter, a pretty young woman wearing an apron over jeans and a polo shirt. “Can you help me? I'm looking for Doug Haddock.”

The young woman glances over her shoulder, then grabs a pad and pencil. “If this is about an order, I can help you.”

“It's not about an order. I need to see Mr. Haddock.”

The girl's face screws up into a question mark, then clears. “You're the lawyer.”

“Yes.”

“Just a minute, I'll get Doug.”

While she waits at the counter, Briley breathes in the scents of ink and oil and freshly cut paper. Somewhere in the distance, a printer clacks with rhythmic regularity, while
a humming copy machine against the wall spits copies into a multilevel tray.

A moment later, the girl returns, followed by a shaggy-haired man who appears to be in his early thirties. His brows are knotted in a frown, but his face clears as he gives Briley a polite smile. “I'm Doug Haddock. Something I can do for you?”

“I hope so.” Briley slides her business card over the counter and waits while he reads it.

“You're an attorney?”

“From Chicago. I'm representing Erin Tomassi on a murder charge.”

He tosses her card back over the counter. “I don't know anyone by that name.”

“I believe you knew her as Erin Wilson. You were in college together at Chicago State University.”

Briley watches as memory hardens his eyes. “I didn't know her well.”

“You filed a complaint against her with the school authorities.”

“I dropped that complaint.”

“Please, Mr. Haddock.” Briley sets her purse on the counter and leans toward him. “I'm not here to make trouble for you. But I need some honest answers.”

“I don't want to get involved in any trial, and I don't have time to go up to Chicago.”

“If you don't have knowledge of the present case, you won't have to. But I need to understand a few things about my client's history, and I believe you can help me.”

Haddock turns to the young woman who's pretending not to listen from a few feet away. “Nona, I'll be in my office.”

“Okay, Doug.”

Briley feels the prick of the young woman's eyes as she steps behind the counter and follows Haddock to a small office at the back of the building. He lifts a stack of real estate brochures from the only guest chair and offers her a seat.

“Thanks.”

He settles himself behind the desk and picks up a pencil. “What can I tell you? I really didn't know Erin Wilson. I met her at a party one night, she came back to my dorm. Next thing I know, she's breaking a lamp over my head. I had to get stitches—cost me ninety bucks to get sewn up at the emergency room.” He lifts an uneven section of hair and points to his forehead. “See that scar? Three stitches to close up the gash she left me with. That's thirty bucks a stitch.”

Briley peers at the faint red line. “Why did she hit you?”

“How should I know? The girl was crazy. She came on all sweet and clingy at the party, but she sure changed once she got back to my room. It was like she was a different person.”

“Did you ever date her again?”

“Why should I date a wildcat?”

“I assume that's a no.” Briley pulls her notebook from her purse. “Did you have a roommate?”

His eyes narrow. “Why?”

“I thought maybe your roommate drove you to the emergency room. You must have been in quite a bit of pain. And head wounds bleed like nobody's business.”

“Tell me about it.” He grunts. “After I got stitched up, I filed the complaint, because I wanted my ninety bucks reimbursed. But a few hours later, I was ready to let it go. Considering all the other shenanigans that went on in my dorm, three stitches was really no big deal.”

“You were willing to forget about ninety bucks after only a couple of hours?” She whistles. “Your college budget must have been a lot more flexible than mine.”

“Uh…I must have figured my insurance would cover it.”

Briley searches the man's eyes. He may be telling the truth, but it's not likely that a man who can still remember the cost per stitch would easily forgive a debt.

Briley hesitates, pen poised over the paper. “Your roommate's name?”

Haddock frowns. “He wouldn't remember any of this.”

“Maybe not. But Erin remembers the incident—just not quite the way you do. Mostly she remembers that a young man made trouble for her in her sophomore year.”

Haddock shakes his head. “You know, I'm not sure I remember that guy's name. I moved off campus the next year.”