THEY WORKED LONG INTO THE night, Martha making coffee at midnight then again at two.
They’d spent the afternoon in Fairmount County, with Vincent. Martha had recorded, tried to coach and prompt but there was no way Vincent would take to the stand so he’d said nothing. It was an exercise in futility, but Walk had hoped maybe seeing that Martha believed in him would give Vincent the excuse he needed to finally unload everything that had happened that night.
It was on the way in that Cuddy had caught up with him, handed him an envelope.
“What is this?” Walk asked.
“Vincent. He got mail. Doesn’t say much of anything. Thought you might want to take a look.”
Walk had waited till he was alone in the waiting room before he’d unfolded the paper. A letter, typed but no doubt it was from Darke. Funds are hard to come by but I haven’t given up. I know I’m letting you down, so I’ve found a way to make things right. Good luck at trial, sometimes wishes do come true.
He’d read it a dozen times, looked for something that was not there, something he didn’t already know. Darke had a conscience, maybe. It no longer mattered.
When he handed the letter over, Vincent had shoved it straight into his pocket, turned back to Martha and changed the subject. A line was drawn, and Walk was clearly on the other side of it.
With the trial on the horizon, Martha spent her days prepping, calling in favors, even driving down to see her old professor who lived in Cameron County.
She and Walk set up an office in his basement, covered every wall with papers and photos and maps. She read trial transcripts, practiced her opening statement so many times Walk knew every word of it. Martha knew the D.A. by reputation, and knew she’d have been prepping for months. The facts were cogent: Vincent King knew the victim and was found in her house covered in her blood.
There was talk of subpoenaing Dickie Darke, but they could not find him. The D.A. already had his statement. There was nothing tying him to the scene, and doing so would see Dee Lane called to the stand, and Walk would not do that to her children. No doubt he would be called as a state witness.
They mapped out local lives and where they intersected. The D.A. would claim Vincent had dumped the gun in the water. Martha could prove that was not possible in the time he had. It was a small win. They needed it.
At nine Walk sat on a chair and felt the tremor first in his left hand, then his right leg. He closed his eyes like he could will it away. He slowed his breathing and cursed his body for such betrayal at so crucial a time.
“Are you okay, Walk?”
He went to speak but felt it in his face, his jaw and lips. A tingling, then the same tremble of his body. It would pass, but not in time. He felt tears, hot and shameful. He tried to raise a hand to wipe them back, before she saw, but his hand would not move.
He closed his eyes and willed himself from that room and that town and maybe that life. He thought back to being ten years old, riding his bike with Vincent, the two of them crossing each other and smiling the open way only children can.
And then he felt hands on his, not firm but there, warm. He opened his eyes and saw Martha on her knees before him. Her beautiful eyes, even filled with tears.
“It’s alright.”
He shook his head, it was not alright and would not be alright again. It had been a dozen years since he cried. But right then, when he looked around at the perfect mess his life had become, he sobbed like he was fifteen and Vincent had been sent away all over again.
“Why do you carry Vincent with you?”
“It’s on me. That night, after I found Sissy. I went to his place and saw the car. I knew right off it was him.”
“I know. You told me.”
“But I could have woken him. He would have handed himself in. It would have looked better, to that judge and jury. The judge would’ve been lenient. Instead I took it to Chief Dubois. Who does that? Who the fuck does that to their friend?”
Martha took his face in her hands. “You did what was right, Walk. You always have done. The way you looked out for Star even when I know she would’ve pushed you away, it’s something special, to do that is something special.”
“We endure, right. That’s what we do for those we love.”
“The world would be a better place with more people like you in it.” She spoke so sincerely he could’ve believed her. But instead he looked over her shoulder at the board and his friend. They did not have time left for any of this.
He kissed her, suddenly, without thinking.
He started to apologize but then her lips found his, and there was something frantic in the way she kissed him, like she’d been waiting thirty years. She pushed him back, and then pulled him to his feet, took his hand and led him up to the bedroom. He wanted to stop her, to tell her she was making another mistake, that she was better than him in every way. But when she kissed him, he felt it. Fifteen all over again.
The news came in late, Walk’s cell dragging him from the deepest sleep he’d had in a long time. He sat up, Martha stirred beside him.
He listened in silence, then cut the call and lay back.
“What?”
He stared at the ceiling. “The autopsy on Milton. He drowned. Nothing else, no other injuries. He just drowned.”
Martha got to her feet quick, despite the dark sky. “This is it, Walk.”
“What?”
“The gamechanger we’ve been waiting for.”
* * *
That night Robin woke crying, the sheets wet through, the nightmare that gripped him so vivid he could not speak for the first moments Duchess held him.
“It was Mom. I was locked in my bedroom and I heard Mom and she was screaming. I want Peter and Lucy. I want Mom. And Grandpa. I want to go back and for this to be the nightmare.”
She hushed him and kissed his head.
After she helped him wash she pulled plastic sheeting from the other bed and they settled in there. She left the drapes open and they watched a night sky of plentiful stars and the fullest moon.
“It’ll be okay, you know.”
“You think they’ll take us to Wyoming?”
“Your future isn’t written yet, Robin. You can be anything. You’re a prince.”
“I want to be a doctor like Peter.”
“You’d make a good doctor.”
After he fell asleep she sat down by the window and took out her schoolbook. She did her history paper as best she could. She was struggling again.
She looked over at her brother and knew without doubt he was the color to her shade.
The next day as they walked toward school Mary Lou took turns leaning in to the other kids’ ears and whispering something that made them wrinkle their noses tight and laugh.
“What is it?” Robin said to Duchess.
“Nothing. Probably something dumb she saw on TV.”
It continued the whole walk, along Hickory and into Grove Street. They collected four more kids, the Wilson twins, Emma Brown and her brother Adam. Each time Mary Lou did that same thing, brought them close and whispered, watching in delight as they recoiled then laughed.
“Ewww, gross,” Emma said.
Robin looked up at Duchess again. “Henry didn’t want me walking with the big kids today.”
“Henry’s an asshole.”
Duchess stared at them as they walked, at Mary Lou who kept looking back and smirking, and Kelly and Emma and fucking Henry and his cunt friends. She felt that cold lead in her veins begin to melt and turn molten as they reached the school gates and Mary Lou took her whispers to a cluster of kids from her class. They all turned. Giggles turned to open laughs, faces pulled in disgust.
Duchess moved then, Robin grabbed her hand tight and pulled her back.
“Please,” he said.
She knelt in the grass. “Robin.”
He went to speak and she smoothed his curls back.
“What am I?”
He met her eye. “An outlaw.”
“And what do outlaws do?”
“They don’t take any crap.”
“No one pushes us around. No one laughs at us. I stand up for you. Our blood is the same.”
Fear in his eyes.
“You head into class now.”
She gave him a gentle push and he turned and walked into the building, reluctant, nervous.
She stood, dropped her bag and stared at Mary Lou. And then she walked toward her. Girls moved, Emma and Kelly and Alison Myers, they parted for her because they’d heard the stories.
“You want to tell me what’s so funny?”
Boys came over and fanned out around them.
Mary Lou did not back off, just carried that same smirk. “You stink of piss.”
“What?”
“Your bed. It was you last night. I saw my mother washing the sheet from your bed. You pissed yourself like some retard.”
Duchess heard the bell ring.
No one moved.
“I did.”
There were murmurs, laughter and a couple of shouts she couldn’t make out.
“You admit it?” Mary Lou said.
“Sure.”
“See. I told you it wasn’t bullshit,” she said to Kelly. Then she turned and the group began to move.
“But you know why I did it?”
They stopped, heads turned.
Mary Lou watched her, uncertain of what was coming but tensing up, ready.
“So your father wouldn’t touch me.”
Stone silence.
“Liar,” Mary Lou said.
Kelly and Emma inched away.
“You fucking liar.” She screamed then ran at Duchess.
Mary Lou was used to shoving matches, maybe some hair pulling, nothing more than that. She did not count on meeting an outlaw in the schoolyard.
Duchess dropped her with one savage punch.
Mary Lou crumpled, her tooth in the grass, the other kids hollering as blood spilled from her mouth.
Duchess stood still and calm, watching her prey, kind of hoping she’d get up and they’d go again.
When it was done, when the principal and two teachers ran out and took a look at Mary Lou, beaten bloody, tooth missing, the new girl standing over her and smiling, they hauled her inside and called the Prices and Shelly.
Duchess sat alone waiting, wishing Hal would walk down the hallway and straighten out her mess. Out the window she watched Montana sky and wondered about Walk and the Cape, what kind of sky they saw that morning when everything changed once again.
Mrs. Price arrived crying, her husband’s arm around her.
“No more, we’re not doing this anymore,” she said between breaths, glaring at Duchess like she wanted the girl dead.
Mr. Price glared too, so Duchess flipped him off.
Shelly got there and hugged her. Duchess stood still and did not hug her back.
The adults convened in the principal’s office, gold plaque on a door so heavy Duchess could make out nothing more than the odd raised voice. Mrs. Price going off, out of my house, not one more night, safety of my own children.
Duchess was called in once the Prices stepped out, looking away as they passed her, like she did not live beneath their roof.
Shelly asked her about what she said, about Mr. Price. She told the truth. She said it to shut Mary Lou up. Shelly backed her as best she could, the losing horse but still she threw support her way.
The principal was aghast, grave allegations, no place for violence in their school, she would not be welcome back.
Duchess flipped him off for good measure.
“You alright?” Shelly said, as they walked from the school.
“I’m alive.” Duchess did not like leaving Robin there.
She climbed into Shelly’s car and sat silent as they drove to the Price house.
Mrs. Price stood in their kitchen, on guard. Mr. Price had run Mary Lou to the emergency room to be checked over and see about her tooth. Threats were made, legal and otherwise. Duchess was ushered up to the attic to pack their belongings. It did not take long. Her case had been ready since the day they arrived.
She left the house without saying another word to Mrs. Price, who stood on the step, dabbing at her eyes.
Shelly drove in silence, back to the office, where she worked the phone madly while Duchess sat on an old wooden chair and watched hours pass by.
At three Shelly headed out and left Duchess under the watch of a couple of older ladies who smiled her way every ten minutes.
Shelly returned with Robin. He’d been crying.
At five they got a place. Shelly spoke without emotion, tired and beaten by a hundred other files, other cases, other lives just as lost.
“It’s a group home,” she said.