God Only Knows (15 page)

Then there was the time Eddie walked up to him, just after school let out, shortly after a group of black kids from the older
freshman class had beaten him up in response to his jeering use of the “N word.”

“Maybe I can’t get them,” he had said to Maxwell, “but if you or your buddies try to come at me like they did, I’ll be ready
for y’all. My brother showed me how to use my stepdad’s gun. Like to see you try me now.”

The young boy’s snarling, angry glare lived on in Maxwell’s memory, but it was irrelevant now. Maxwell had visited Eddie at
his nursing home once already, at Edna’s invitation, and it had been a surreal experience. Standing beside Edna, Maxwell had
peered in confusion at the slack-jawed, immobile man with a pasty face and shaggy beard. As a physician, Maxwell had the fortitude
to observe the nurses as they fed Eddie, changed his diaper, and allowed Edna to try and coax a reaction —any reaction —out
of him. Eventually Maxwell had slipped into the hallway to quiz a doctor on staff, who had explained that although his postcoma
development had stalled nearly a decade earlier, Eddie had proven to be unexpectedly hearty. “Never seen anything like it,”
Maxwell’s colleague had said. “He can’t possibly be conscious of it, but the guy fights every day for survival as if he expects
to regain consciousness. He could outlive all of us.”

Pulling into the parking garage of his condo building, Maxwell ran down the list of things to do before his meeting with Peter
Whitlock. Pray, fast, and place a call to his pastor. If he was going to emerge whole from a face-to-face with a paranoid
racist, he could use as much Holy Spirit bolstering as possible. Nia’s beautiful face locked into his thoughts, and he reminded
himself that as challenged as life was, he had too much to live for.

I
n the nearly three weeks it had taken to try and gather an unadulterated version of that fateful night’s true events, Cassie
had bought a few extra days from Peter Whitlock by promising to bring him additional witnesses. This, of course, had not stopped
the detective’s reminders of his presence —daily hang-up calls to Cassie’s cell and home phones, the occasional indulgence
in parking and loitering outside her home, a handwritten note here and there. Cassie considered it a miracle that even as
she and Julia had spent the past days processing the disjointed memories of their old friends, she had managed to keep Marcus
from getting wind of these harassments. She knew time was growing short, that it was a matter of days before her home life
and Whitlock were due for a nasty clash.

That fear made Julia’s insistence about meeting Whitlock even more painful to Cassie. As they drove toward the Greene shopping
development, where Whitlock had agreed on a rendezvous, she tried again to dissuade her friend. “You don’t have to reveal
yourself, Julia,” she said, her hands gripping her steering wheel. “He doesn’t know you were involved. Why don’t you keep
yourself and, more important, Amber out of this?”

“Cassie,” Julia replied impatiently, “we’re not certain exactly what Whitlock knows. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if he
already has an idea I was in the middle of this. I mean, if Toya’s brother was his main source, why would Lenny have mentioned
you, but not the rest of us? Wouldn’t make sense.”

“Still,” Cassie said, “I don’t understand why you want to ask for trouble. Just let me meet with him. I’ll buy us more time.”

“Cassie,” Julia replied, a hand to her friend’s shoulder, “don’t take this the wrong way, but, truthfully, you need to show
Whitlock that you have sister-friends who have got your back. You know how he came at you last time,” she said, reminding
her friend of the policeman’s suggestion that Cassie prostitute herself. “He needs to see you’re not some isolated target
he can toy with.”

Julia held up a hand when Cassie opened her mouth. “Just stop. Would you prefer if I had sent Marcus over here with you?”

“Okay, got it,” Cassie said, her mouth turning down into an annoyed grimace.

When they stepped into Bar Louie, a contemporary restaurant with a lengthy bar at its front entrance, they spied Whitlock
at a back table. Dressed in a beige suit and white oxford shirt, he had a fresh haircut, his blond curls shorn into a tight
crew cut. As he waved the women over, Cassie saw Whitlock’s eyes narrow in on Julia with unashamed pleasure.

“So the puzzle pieces continue to fall into place,” he said, shaking Julia’s hand after she had introduced herself. “I’ve
heard of you, Dr. Turner. I didn’t realize you were an alumnus of the school, though. You were with Cassie and Eddie’s class?”

“That’s the only reason I returned to Dayton,” Julia said, shrugging and probably trying to hide the ill will Cassie knew
coursed through her friend’s veins. “I still believe there’s something worth saving in this city.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Whitlock replied, returning to his seat once the ladies had taken theirs. Kicking one leg over the other,
he leaned back slightly. “Here I thought the only natives who stayed around this place were like me —those who’ve never seen
anything better.” He rapped his knuckles on the table, glancing between the two ladies. “So . . . who wants to explain what
we’re talking about today?”

“Julia is here,” Cassie said, her back stiffening and her tone sounding frosty even to her own ears, “because I have told
her about your beliefs concerning what happened to Eddie —”

A hand raised, Whitlock pivoted toward Julia. “Were you there that night or not, ma’am?”

Julia let her eyes lock with Cassie’s for a second before meeting Whitlock’s stare head-on. “I was with Cassie, Toya, and
Terry that night, Detective.”

Whitlock sat up in his seat again, tented his hands as he leaned in. “So, as opposed to Cassie, what information can you share
with me?”

“Well, I thought you should know,” Julia replied, once they had all placed drink orders with their waitress, “that we have
nothing further to share with you at this moment.”

Whitlock’s smirk was offset by a stormy glare. “What?”

“You see, Detective,” Julia continued, “it has come to my attention that you’ve been subjecting my dear friend to harassment
of just about every kind. As a matter of fact, the more Cassie shares about your interactions, the more I’ve become convinced
that you’re not able to be an honest broker here.”

“Oh, I see,” Whitlock replied, his head snapping back so quickly Cassie almost missed it. His hands folded before him, he
rolled his shoulders as he said, “If Cassie feels I’m abusing my authority, Dr. Turner, she’s more than welcome to report
me to the authorities.” Seemingly regaining confidence, he smiled as he glanced in Cassie’s direction. “Of course, she might
not enjoy explaining the subject of our conversations.”

“You’ve been preying on me,” Cassie said, turning in her seat so that more than her stare faced Whitlock down. “If your only
concern was getting justice for Eddie, you should have reported your evidence to your superiors as soon as you got it.”

Whitlock’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t even think you have a right to tell me how to prosecute —”

“Detective.” Ignoring Cassie’s quiet gasp, Julia planted one hand atop Whitlock’s. Maintaining eye contact with him, she said,
“Don’t forget that Cassie and I, along with our entire Christian Light class, spent four years praying for Eddie’s recovery.
We can’t know the unique pains you suffered seeing him linger in such a condition, but I can honestly say none of us have
forgotten what happened to him.”

Pausing in apparent surprise that he hadn’t slapped her hand away, Julia continued. “Cassie and I want you to know that while
we won’t allow you to continue playing head games on us, we are going to set the wheels of justice into motion. As Christians,
frankly, we should have had the courage to do this years ago.”

Squirming visibly, Whitlock shyly removed his hand from beneath Julia’s. A finger brushing the bridge of his nose, he asked,
“So you’re turning yourselves in?”

“She never said that,” Cassie said defiantly.

“What I am saying,” Julia replied, a slight move of her hand signaling Cassie to calm down, “is that Cassie and I have retained
representation from two different criminal defense attorneys. We are having ongoing discussions with them, to understand the
best way in which to share our knowledge of that night’s events with the authorities.”

Whitlock blinked twice and took a long swig from his glass of Scotch. “I —I guess that makes sense.” He stroked his chin absentmindedly.
“You’re sure —both of you —that you’re willing to risk your jobs, your families, in order to admit to knowledge of what happened
to Eddie?”

“You’re not listening,” Cassie replied, barely repressing the urge to wag a finger. “We’re not saying we had a thing to do
with Eddie winding up in front of that truck, just that we might have relevant information about things that happened earlier
that night.”

Julia’s eyes flashed with an instruction.
You’ve said more than enough.
Aloud she said, “The point is, Detective, if you want information from us, you can now contact our attorneys.” She locked
eyes with Cassie, and they simultaneously grabbed their respective attorneys’ cards from their purses, sliding them across
the table to Whitlock.

The women waited patiently as the detective cleared his throat several times, cursed low under his breath, and traced his
fingers over the attorneys’ names. “I know both of these guys,” he said finally. “They’re good.”

He looked up for the first time since receiving what was clearly unwelcome news. “Gotta admit, the last thing I expected was
that you’d agree to flush yourselves out.” Whitlock glanced at the ceiling, and for the first time since she had met him,
Cassie saw in Peter Whitlock’s eyes the lost stare of a confused teenager. “My, uh, mother always talks about some Scripture
that says vengeance is God’s duty to handle, that we should trust Him to handle justice.”

Cassie couldn’t take her eyes off the detective, but she willed herself to keep her mouth shut. If Peter Whitlock was about
to be positively inspired by his dear mother’s words, her affirmation of them would interrupt the entire process.

Still silent, Whitlock leaned back in his seat and began clapping. Cassie finally let herself see the change that had occurred
in his eyes; the conflicted stare had hardened into a sarcastic glare. “Kudos, ladies,” he said, clapping louder still, as
a few nearby patrons turned his way. “Quite a curveball you served up, but I hope you realize it changes nothing.”

“I don’t think you’ve taken the time yet to let this sink in,” Julia replied, her back arching, though she kept her tone even.
“Don’t you understand that this is a major step we’ve taken?”

Whitlock shot Julia a look loaded with contempt. “So we’re clear —as the one whose family member was irreparably harmed, I’ll
make the call on when a major step has been taken.” He flicked his eyes toward Cassie, seemingly encouraging her to take him
on before slowly rising from his seat. “I have to hit the little boys’ room, ladies. If you want to waste some more time trying
to snow me, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Cassie glanced at her watch, trying to look nonchalant even as her heart beat faster with despair. “We have another fifteen
minutes.”

“I’m much faster than that,” Whitlock said, a dry chuckle competing with the wary look in his eyes. “I’ll be right back.”

When the detective had walked off, Julia reached over and clamped onto her friend’s nearest elbow. “Don’t give up yet.”

Cassie shook her head. “I have to trust the power of prayer,” she said. “I’ve been praying Ephesians 3:20 —Paul’s promise
about God’s ability to do exceedingly and abundantly more than we can ask or imagine —for the past week now. I know God can
bring out the best in people, even someone like Whitlock.”

Julia took a sip of her water. “We have to remember, he’s more of a victim in all this than we’ve ever been. He still thinks
his kid brother was a pure innocent. He probably has no idea how Eddie tried to violate you, how ready he was to cut all of
us when we caught him with you.”

Cassie hung her head, emotional fatigue finally catching up to her. “I know, but, sweet Lord, he’s made it hard for me to
remember all that.”

Julia placed a hand to her friend’s neck, massaging lightly as she asked, “Have you set your first appointment with your attorney
yet? I scheduled my first sit-down with Mr. Christopher for Tuesday.”

“I go in Monday.” Cassie exhaled a deep breath. “I sure hope they have good news for us about the statute of limitations.
If that has run out, maybe we can get Toya and Terry to go ahead and get representation too. They’re going to have to do it
eventually, to keep anyone like Whitlock from coming after them too.”

The two friends were so deep into their deliberations that it took another ten minutes for them to realize that Whitlock had
never returned. “This is not cute,” Julia said, checking her watch. “I have to pick Amber up right on schedule from dance
practice.”

A chill formed at the base of Cassie’s spine. “You think this is another head game? He just walked out, to show he could care
less that we have attorneys now?”

“Hey, I need help in here!” A loud male voice rang out from the hallway around the corner, and a short, skinny waiter burst
into view. Hopping up and down, he yelled toward a hostess who was staring at him in shock. “Lauren, get a couple of the busboys
back here! There’s a fight in the men’s room!”

“What in the —” The words weren’t out of Julia’s mouth before she and Cassie had dashed from their seats. Nearly running the
frantic waiter over, they craned their necks toward the restroom door.

“Ladies, please” was all the waiter got out before two chunky Hispanic busboys blew past all three of them. Stranded there
with the waiter, Cassie balled her fists anxiously as the sounds of a major scuffle emanated from the restroom. Pushing, shoving,
punching, cursing, and slamming spilled out into the hallway; then the smaller busboy finally emerged with Whitlock in tow,
an arm around his neck as a form of control.