Presumed Guilty (8 page)

Jefferson Waite walked Dallas to the end of the corridor. Cara was down in the coffee shop on the first floor, waiting for Dallas to join her.

“How you holding up?” Jeff asked.
“I don’t know. I’ll tell you at the end of the day.”
He looked back down the long hallway, like he was avoiding her

all of a sudden.
“What is it?” Dallas said.
He sighed. “You need to be strong. I have to tell you

something.”
Strong? She felt like warm Jell-O. “What is it?”
“The next witness is the deputy coroner, the one who performed

the autopsy.”
“And? ”
“Freton just gave me a copy of his report.”
“What does it say?”
“Dallas, I will always be up front with you.”
“Please talk to me.”
“They found seminal fluid in Melinda Perry.”
The walls of the courthouse began to close in on Dallas, even

before he said what she knew he’d say.
“They did a DNA analysis. It’s a match with Ron.”
Fireworks behind her eyes, a momentary blindness to everything around her.

“Dallas — ”
“No.” She put her hand up. “Just let me alone.”
She turned and walked the other way, down the corridor, a long

dark tunnel now. Even with the lights, the people, the elevators, the sounds — even with all that, she was alone in a blackness that went on and on.

Thought smashed against thought. She was unaware of what she was doing. She knew she was walking, then entering the restroom. There may have been another woman in there, she wasn’t sure. She saw only the first stall with its door open, and that is where she fell to her knees and retched.

“Mom, what on earth?” Cara took Dallas by the shoulders and sat her down on the plastic bench in the coffee shop.
“I’m sick.”
“Let’s get you home.”
“No. I’m staying. Your father . . .” How to break this to her daughter? How to soften the blow?
“What about Dad?”
“Cara, they have evidence, that your dad and the girl . . .”
“Not sex.”
Dallas nodded.
“Oh, Mom, no.”
Dallas was still nauseated and took a long breath. “Jeff’s not finished. We don’t know everything.”
“Let me take you home.”
“I’m staying.”
“Then I am too.”
Dallas held Cara’s hand during the entire testimony of Dr. Edward Varaki. The deputy DA put him through a clinical, stepby-step recitation of the autopsy. Asphyxiation. Suffocation. Lack of oxygen to brain. Evidence of sexual intercourse.
And the DNA match with Ron.
She could sense the reporters working overtime, scribbling notes or clacking on tiny keyboards. They had the good stuff now, the guarantor of ratings and circulation.
It used to be about the news that’s fit to print
, Dallas thought.
Now it’s all the sex that fits, we print.
She had been betrayed.
Jeff cross-examined. “Dr. Varaki, the evidence of sexual intercourse and the cause of death have nothing to do with each other, do they?”
“I offer no opinion on that.”
“It’s entirely possible to have sexual intercourse with someone and not kill them, isn’t it?”
“Objection,” Freton said.
Jeff nodded and said, “No more questions.”
Freton had one more witness, a sheriff’s detective named Powell Dennison. He was paunchy and graying. His hairstyle was a buzz cut, like the cops in TV shows of the sixties.
“You questioned the defendant on the morning of March 18, is that correct?” Freton asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you record that interview?”
“I did.”
“And do you have the written report in front of you?”
“Yes.”
“Referring to your report, Detective, can you tell the court if Mr. Hamilton was advised of his Miranda rights?”
“He was.”
“Did he request a lawyer?”
“No. He said he would like to answer questions, to clear this all up.”
“Did he sign a waiver?”
“He did.”
“Did you ask if Mr. Hamilton knew the deceased, Melinda Perry, also known as Melinda Chance?”
“He said that he did know her. Said he had been counseling her at his church on occasion.”
“Referring to your report, at
page eight
, will you please read into the record lines six through sixteen?”
“Sure.” Dennison flipped a couple of pages and began to read. “ ‘QUESTION: When was the last time you saw Miss Perry?
“ ‘ANSWER: Oh, I’m trying to think. It was probably last Thursday or Friday.
“ ‘QUESTION: That would be the tenth or the eleventh?
“ ‘ANSWER: Yeah, I guess.
“ ‘QUESTION: There is no way you’ve seen her in the last two days?
“ ‘ANSWER: None.
“ ‘QUESTION: Have you ever been to Pico Rivera, Mr. Hamilton?
“ ‘ANSWER: Pico Rivera? I don’t think so.
“ ‘QUESTION: Ever heard of the Star Motel in Pico Rivera? “ ‘ANSWER: No.
“ ‘QUESTION: Did you ever have sex with Melinda Perry? “ ‘ANSWER: No. No way. I would never do that.’ ”
Mike Freton cast a quick glance at Jefferson Waite. The hint of a smirk crossed Freton’s face. Dallas thought she might get sick all over again.
Freton sat down. Jeff said he had no questions for the witness.
The last witness for the prosecution was a forensic technician from the sheriff’s lab. He testified to the presence of the carpet fibers from the Star Motel in Ron’s car.
Jeff cross-examined with some technical questions Dallas didn’t understand. But it was obvious Jeff was trying to lay a foundation for a later challenge to the gathering of this evidence.
When Jeff finished, Freton announced that the prosecution’s case was over.
Judge Bartells nodded. “Mr. Waite, do you have witnesses to call?”
Jefferson Waite stood ramrod straight. The way he did it made Dallas think of a gladiator.
“No witnesses, Your Honor. But I would like to ask for a recess until Wednesday.”
“The purpose being?”
“I would like to supplement my points and authorities on my motion to suppress. I believe that what we’ve heard today from the prosecution leads only to one conclusion, and that is all the evidence gathered from the Star Motel is inadmissible.”
Dallas thought she heard a snort from the prosecutor. The judge made no sound, but his eyes lit up with surprise.
“All of it?” the judge said.
“Every last fiber,” Jeff said.
The judge looked at his wall calendar. “Very well. We’ll address this on Wednesday afternoon, at one thirty sharp. We’re in recess until then.”
Everyone stood as the judge left the bench. Then a deputy sheriff took Ron by the arm to lead him out of the courtroom. Ron did not turn around to look at Dallas.
As Jeff gathered his notes, Dallas tried to make her way to him. She was immediately confronted by several reporters angling for a comment. She waved them off, but still they came, like sharks to chum.
Only the bailiff, a broad-shouldered deputy sheriff, restored order with a verbal threat to the press. They shrank back with sour looks all around.
Dallas got to the rail, where Jeff saw her.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“I’ve got some work to do on my motion to suppress. We’ll be back here Wednesday afternoon.”
“What if the judge doesn’t go along with this motion?”
“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“What do I do now?”
Jeff put a hand on her shoulder. “Just try to get some rest. This has been a traumatic day, I know.”
Rest? Out of the question. Her body and mind wouldn’t allow it. Not, at least, until she looked her husband in the eye again.

He did. Reluctantly. His forehead was furrowed and his eyes uncertain. It was nearly four thirty in the afternoon, and Ron was back at county jail. This would be his world for at least another two days, until Judge Bartells issued his ruling.

But at the moment Dallas wasn’t thinking about judges or lawyers or courtrooms.
“You lied to me,” she said, letting the hurt vibrate her words.
Ron nodded, looking at the scarred table in front of him.
“I said look at me.” Dallas was gripping the phone so hard her forearm ached. “Have you ever lied to me about . . . about women?”
“Dallas, believe me, I — ”
“Why
should
I?”
“Because I’m telling you, I’m telling you the truth with every ounce of my being. Yes, I did a terrible thing. And lied to you about it. But I’m not lying now. I did not kill that girl.”
She looked at him and wondered if her instinct was right. That her husband was not a killer, could never be. He could lie to her about a sordid affair. He could lie to her about loving her, about a great many things. But not about this.
“You believe me, don’t you?” Ron asked.
“You’ve hurt me. You’ve hurt your family, your church.”
“I know that. Don’t you think it’s ripping me apart?”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Because that’s the only way God is going to get through to you.”
His eyes cooled. “You’re telling me what God is going to do?”

“Why shouldn’t I? Are you going to deny that sin has consequences?”
Ron looked away, silent.
“I see you in there and I know you’re not a killer, you’re just a man. You’re not the man I thought you were, and maybe that’s my fault. Maybe I should have come out of the fog a long time ago.”
“Dallas, don’t.” He hesitated, then spoke again. “Is Jared going to come see me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Will you please tell him I need to see him?”
“Yes, I’ll try.” She started to get up, feeling that if she stayed another moment she’d burst a blood vessel in her brain.
“Please stay for a little while,” Ron said.
“I’ll be in court Wednesday.” Dallas put down the handset before he said another word.

That was the worst part, her going away. The palpable hurt on her face. I never wanted to hurt my wife, but of course no man does when he falls to temptation. He just has part of himself take over without thought of hurt or consequence.

There is a slash in the fabric of our marriage now, a fabric I always thought would remain whole. But a lie is a razor. It cuts quick and deep.

And what of my son? The son who turned his back on me? Or was that me doing the turning?
I was so proud when he was born. The second child, a son. Something happens to a man when his son is born right before his eyes. He receives an infusion from on high, a divine current that reshapes and remolds what is inside him.
That new shape remains until something devastating warps it.
Like now.
I am misshapen.

Dallas sighed with relief as she pulled into the garage. No media at the curb today. At least they’d figured out the Hamilton house was dry ground. They’d have to suck marrow from some other set of bones.

Her marrow was seriously depleted. Confronting Ron was not a happy event. Confronting herself about how she felt was even worse. She did not take kindly to being the thing she’d never thought she’d be — the betrayed wife.

Let him sit in jail. Let him sit there a long time and feel the punishment.
She gasped at her own thoughts. But they did not stop, and she did not try to stop them. Like steam coming out of a boiler, it was keeping her from blowing.
It good to be home, a place where people were. People who were not Ron or reporters or prosecutors. She was starting to grow fond of Tiana and Jamaal. And Jared, at least for the past week, had been civil, if distant.
But the house was silent when she came through the door. And she knew something was wrong.
“Hello?” No answer. She heard a scuffing sound in the hallway and went there. Jared was leaning against the wall.
“Why didn’t you answer me?” Dallas said.
He shrugged and looked at the floor. What was he up to?
“Where’s Tiana?”
“Home.”
“What do you mean,
home
?”
“I took her home. Drove her. And the kid.”
“Jared, look at me.”
He looked. Dallas saw such a faraway aspect in his eyes that she wanted to forget everything else and hold him. She was also getting ready to scream.
“You’re saying you drove her back to that abuser?”
“Mom, she wanted to go home. She wasn’t a prisoner here.”
“She wasn’t going to go!” All sorts of terrible images came to her mind now. “I almost had her convinced. What did you say to her?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me, Jared! I don’t want to be lied to anymore!”
“You want the truth?” The chill in his voice nearly froze her.
“Yes. I want the truth.”
“Then I’ll give it to you. The truth is you can’t save anybody, and it’s driving you crazy. Dad’s up for murder, and even if he didn’t do it he probably did something he ought to be in jail for. And you can’t save me. So you picked some poor woman who’s going to end up dead anyway, and you made her a project.”
“No — ”
“Another Dallas Hamilton feel-good project, because it’s a sure thing her family isn’t feeling good.”
“Stop it!”
“This woman doesn’t want your charity. She doesn’t want us, doesn’t need us.”
“Stop, please.” Dallas sank down until she sat on the floor.
“Mom, I’m sorry.”
Jared got down next to her and wrapped her up in his arms. Her tears started falling.
“No, Mom, don’t do that.”
She shook in his arms. He kept holding her. Like she had held him when he was sick or scared or hurting. Once when he was twelve and sick with a fever, trying to be brave, saying he didn’t need anything, she lay next to him on his bed. He let her, put his head on her shoulder. Just before he drifted to sleep he said, thick of voice, “I’m glad you’re here.”
Dallas stopped crying and sat up. Jared started to say something, but she raised her hand.
“Things have to change,” she said. “You and I have to come together on this. Your dad. He’s going to lose everything. He’s made a horrible mistake. He didn’t kill this girl, I know it. He did wrong. He knows it. He’s paying for it. Don’t make him pay anything more, Jared. Go see him.”
“Mom — ”
“Please. He needs you. Go see him.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“He needs you to forgive him.”
“I’ll try, okay?”
“Just do it, Jared.”
“Mom, let me do it on my own. You want something to eat? Want me to make you some eggs or something?”
“No.” She couldn’t eat. She’d been losing weight.
Jared leaned back against the wall and looked at the ceiling. “It’s all so messed up.”
She got on her knees and faced him. “Jared, you used to believe in God when you were a kid. You can again.”
“It’s not that simple anymore. I mean, look at the world, Mom. Look at TV. Look at the people on
Cops.
Why would a good God allow that?”
“I know it’s not simple. But, Jared, I know you used to believe, and — ”
Jared shook his head. “You don’t really know me, Mom.”
“I do!”
“Yeah?”
He stood suddenly and pulled his T-shirt off over his head. His chest was pale under a patch of dark hair. Over his heart she saw the tattoo, USMC, with the marine insignia. She’d seen it before he’d shipped over to Iraq.
Then he turned around.
And Dallas gasped.
In the middle of his back, from neck to waist, was a blue-black tattoo of a sword. On the blade was written
I Come To Bring You Hell.