Tell No Lies (15 page)

ON THE THIRD Wednesday in May, Jack woke to the loud, low slap of their bedroom door slamming shut. Sleet pelted the bedroom window, and tiny, needle sharp pellets of ice and water blew sideways through the five-inch gap below the window, which they'd opened the night before to catch a cool breeze. Now, the temperature in the room reminded him of the walk-in freezer at Dierbergs, the grocery store where he'd worked years before as a bagger.

"You've got to see this," he said to Claire from the window.

The slamming door must have startled her awake, too. She appeared at Jack's side, fully awake. Together they gazed at the three large maple trees surrounding the deck, their new leaves, spring green and still tender, encased in ice and hanging heavily. "It's freaky," she said. "It's going to kill everything."

Jack knew she was thinking of the many hours she'd spent in the yard last weekend. On Sunday she'd planted rose bushes. After begrudgingly allowing Jack to dig the postholes for her—she'd wanted it to be her project, and hers alone—she'd installed two perpendicular sections of post-rail fence in a sunny corner of the backyard and planted the climbing roses all along the front of it. That they would become casualties of this freakish storm, as she called it, he knew caused her the most distress.
 

"Just think of how neat it will look, though," he suggested as he pulled her close to him. "The ice on the new buds. We can go out with the camera before it melts." He thought this would help; it bothered her that he didn't use his camera much anymore.

She leaned against him, her arms crossed tight in a vain attempt to ward off the chill. "I'd better go shut the kids' windows." As she opened the door to leave the room, she added offhandedly, "I think Mother Nature is a little bit confused."

Join the crowd
, he thought.
 

He had two days left to make his decision.

When the schools announced a two-hour delayed opening because of the ice storm, he offered to go in late so Claire could still make her ten o'clock class; classes at the university would be held regardless of the weather. But he had an ulterior motive. He planned to dig his camera out of a box in the back of their closet and take some pictures after she left. If he was fortunate enough to get a good shot before the temperature started its inevitable rise, he would enlarge a print and save it for her birthday in September.

After Michael scrambled out the door to catch his bus, Jack got Jamie dressed quickly. He searched the hall closet for their coats, sensing that any delay would cause him to miss out.

The grass crackled under their feet as they started over to the far side of the yard where Claire had spent most of Sunday. Jamie tagged behind, stopping several times on the way to investigate a branch that had fallen from the weight of the ice or some crispy brown leaves left over from fall. Jack finally realized these little pit stops provided some good photo ops, so he stopped, too, and began shooting. When Jamie saw what Jack was doing, he mugged for the camera. He smiled wide, his top lip stretching to show not only his baby teeth but his gums, too. The mist settled on his face, and Jack tried to get in close enough to capture the beaded droplets that blended with the faint freckles on his nose and cheeks.
 

Jamie decided he'd rather be photographer than model. He stretched out his arm for the camera, but Jack whisked it out of his reach before the boy's wet hands touched the lens. The interruption reminded Jack of the reason he'd come outside.

"Come on, Jamester, let's go see what Mommy's flowers look like."

Jamie followed Jack to the fence, where they both pondered the scene before them. The rose bushes were pruned low, but a spattering of tiny green buds sprouted from the almost leafless canes. Ice still coated the bushes and the fence, but it was wet and glassy, as if someone had applied a clear varnish. It would be gone in less than an hour, Jack knew. As he squatted and began snapping, Jamie approached the fence, stuck out one finger and touched it lightly.

"It's like God wanted to freeze the day," he said quietly.

Jack lowered the camera and regarded Jamie, a little awed by his statement. It was just the type of insight Claire would have had, had she been there with them. An insight to reinforce his belief that she viewed the world differently from everyone else. That she saw it with more clarity.

"Yeah. It is, isn't it?" he said.

He grabbed Jamie by the sleeve of his coat and pulled him closer, between his legs. He held the camera in front of the boy's face, focused for him, and showed him which button to press. Jamie tried to grasp the camera between his hands, but he was caught off guard by its weight and almost dropped it. Jack caught it and put it back into his hands, this time looping the camera strap around his son's shoulders. He placed his small fingers in the right spots, then he stood close as Jamie pointed it first at the bushes, as Jack had, and then at the woods farther back, and then at the ground and the sky, taking a picture of each view. Jack laughed when Jamie finally turned around and snapped a picture of him, at the most ten inches away.
 

"My turn now, buddy," Jack said. "We've gotta finish and get you to school."

He took a few more pictures, approaching the roses and the fence from different angles, and then he took some of the maples, too, because he doubted he'd ever see them like this again in his lifetime.

"I guess Mother Nature has just about made up her mind, hasn't she?" he whispered into his son's ear. And Jamie smiled that illuminating, gummy smile again, as if he knew exactly what Jack was talking about.

On the drive to work after dropping Jamie at school, Jack thought of Claire, and the kids, and how he'd been in his own world the past several weeks, a world in which they weren't even invited to visit. Once he and Jamie had stepped into the yard, though, he'd remembered why he once enjoyed photography. It granted him the ability to zero in on one thing, to concentrate on the moment to the exclusion of everything else. When he saw Jamie through the viewfinder, Earl disappeared, Jenny disappeared, Gregory Dunne disappeared, the entire courthouse and all the judges and the DA's office disappeared. The noise that seemed constantly to dwell in his head evaporated, and the only sounds that had mattered to him were the words spoken by his son as he crouched in the yard talking to himself. Jack had forgotten the camera had this effect on him. But Claire had remembered. She always knew. She knew back when she was the only subject at the other end of the lens, and later, when she shared the space with Michael. By the time Jamie came along, though, Jack had all but abandoned his old Nikon, and Claire took the family's pictures with a fully automatic camera.
 

When he finally pulled into the parking garage around eleven thirty, he'd made up his mind to abandon any fantasies of running for DA. He was eager to tell Earl of his decision. Once in front of his own office, though, he hesitated. He knew Earl would not accept the news happily, despite his promise to Jack.

Finally he went into his office and closed the door. He decided he wasn't ready to endure Earl's wrath.

He'd tell him later, right before he went home to share the good news with Claire.

The letter lay on his desk, hidden among other mail that had arrived that morning. It caught Jack's attention because his name and address were handwritten. The top left-hand corner, where he would usually see the name and return address of some law firm, was empty. He looked the envelope over. The writer had used black ink and written in small, scratchy letters, all caps. Except the
J
and the
H
. These letters were larger than the rest, almost twice the size. He looked at the postmark. Nothing unusual: St. Louis.
 

He opened the letter. The handwriting inside matched that on the outside: same color ink, same small, sharp, capital letters. Monday's date was written in the upper right-hand corner. The writer began,
Dear Mister Hilliard
.
 

You wont remember me. You did my daughters case more than three years ago, but I seen your name in the paper and I want to tell you that you would be a good man to run for Mister Scanlons job. I will vote for you. My girl Sheryl was shot by her no good husband and his no good lawyer tried to say it was self defence but you proved it was not.

He did remember, though, as soon as she mentioned the name Sheryl. He remembered because the case was the first time he'd ever seen the name spelled with an
S
instead of a
C
. And he remembered the daughter. He remembered the pictures the mother had brought him, because she hadn't liked that he knew her daughter only from the bloody crime scene photos.
 

If not for you he would have got away with it and my granddaughter would have to see him or even live with him. But you showed he was lying. You showed that it didn't happen like he said, that it couldn't happen like he said. And you put him in jail for life. How can I ever thank you?

Jack remembered the details of the case more clearly as he read. Sheryl's daughter, the letter writer's granddaughter, had been in the room when her father shot her mother. He remembered the grandmother's agonizing throughout the trial, because she feared that if her son-in-law prevailed, he would gain custody of the girl. Jack had feared the same thing, and that fear had motivated everything he did on the case.

I read that you have not decided if you want to run for Mister Scanlons job. I hope you do. That is why I am writing to you. I want to tell you that I will vote for you, that I hope you do not let me and my granddaughter down.

During the investigation the grandmother had repeatedly asked him about the death penalty, and he kept putting her off, trying to tell her that it was up to Earl and that Earl was not inclined to seek it on that type of case. He finally convinced her that the execution of her son-in-law would only add to her granddaughter's trauma, and that the girl might someday want to confront her father about his crime.

You are a good man and we need a good man to take over for Mister Scanlon. Please do it, Mister Hilliard. Don't let us down.

The letter was signed
Sinserely, Mrs. Betty Waters
, and it was the only part of the letter that was written in cursive script. He reread the letter several times and then set it on his desk. He picked up the envelope to check again for the return address. There wasn't one. He'd have to get the file from downstairs to find it.
 

Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes and tried to picture Jamie's face through the viewfinder. Tried to picture Claire's face if he pointed the camera at her. What would she think if she read this letter? Would she be proud of him? Would she agree he'd made a difference?
He makes a difference now
. The noise was back.
But just think of what he could do as head of that office
. He could already hear Jenny:
See, even this lady thinks you're a fool if you don't do it
. He opened his eyes, but the noise was still there.
He knows he's the darling of this office
. The noise wouldn't go away.
He's the darling of the office, Frank, because he's an excellent lawyer
.
 

He wanted it. Why was he so afraid to go for it?
To get into a position to make any difference, you sometimes have to compromise
. He tried again to imagine the camera in his hands, his finger lightly on the button, ready to shoot, but he couldn't focus it. Claire stood right in front of him, but he couldn't focus.
You still think he's a good man
. Why couldn't he focus it, dammit?
Doesn't that just prove the arbitrariness of it all?
Then he imagined photographing Jenny; he'd never had occasion to take a picture of her.
I think he'd be a great boss
. When he adjusted the lens, just slightly, the blur faded, vaporized like this morning's mist, leaving in its wake a view of Jenny, her dark skin and dark hair in sharp contrast to the white sky behind her.
Stop making it so hard
. He could see her perfectly. She had on her green suit, the minty one.
What more do they have to do for you?
Her eyes stared down the camera.
But first you have to get here
. She never opened those eyes to him, not really.
I first have to get there
. But he held the camera now; he held an x-ray machine.
Don't deny yourself what you really want
. He could see clearly now. He could see behind the eyes.
It's so close
. He could see right into them; everything else disappeared.
All you have to do is say the word, and it's yours
. Where had all his so-called principles gotten him, anyway? Look what had happened at Newman. He'd already lost a job over his goddamn principles.
All you have to do is say the word, and it's yours
. No one else seemed to care.
 

He reached for the phone and dialed Earl's extension. "You got a minute?"

After a moment of quiet, Earl said, "Yeah, I've got a minute. My door's open."

But Jack didn't want to wait the thirty seconds it would take to get to Earl's office.

"I'm coming down. We'll call Dunne together."

"And what are we telling him?" But Earl knew. Jack knew that he knew.

"We're telling him I want your job." And then he laughed, it sounded so funny. He laughed because he felt the relief he'd expected to feel earlier. He laughed because he felt light, and a little weak. He laughed because he liked the way it sounded; he liked the way
he
sounded when he admitted it to Earl.
I want your job
. He sounded like an honest man.