Whispering Rock (28 page)

“Yeah, I suppose. But it’s so like him, don’t you think? He’s so damn transparent.” He stood up and stretched. “I’m going to turn in.”

“Mind if I sit up? The TV won’t bother you?”

“Help yourself.” The general extended his hand to Paul and Paul took it. “Thanks for staying on,” he said. “I know it’s damn hard on you, son. And I know you’re here because Vanni asked you to be.”

“I’ll do whatever she needs me to do, sir. I gave Matt my word. And I’m awful fond of Vanni.”

“You’re a good man,” he said, giving him a slap on the arm. And he went off down the hall, his step a little slower.

This has aged the hell out of him, Paul thought. He’s buried a few hundred soldiers, but this one is taking its toll.

At ten Paul turned on CNN. At eleven he checked the news out of San Francisco. At twelve he was starting to think about driving out to the homesite, but at twelve-thirty the front door finally opened. Tommy was clearly surprised to find him up. “Hey,” he said. “You’re awake!”

“Yeah,” Paul said, still undecided about exactly the best way to handle this. But it had to be handled while there was still the opportunity for a save, and neither the general nor Vanni was up to the job.

“Good. I need to talk to you about something, man. Let me get a soda. Want anything?”

“No, go ahead.”

Tom came back to the great room with a soda, sat opposite Paul and scooted up to the edge of his seat. A little on the nervous side, Paul thought. “You want to take your coat off?” Paul asked.

“Oh. Yeah,” he said, putting his soda down and shrugging out of his coat. “Listen, I have to tell you something. I kind of borrowed your trailer tonight—I hope that doesn’t piss you off.”

Paul raised his eyebrows, waiting.

“It was a situation. I would’ve asked your permission, but I swear I didn’t plan it at all. It was real sudden. But hey, it worked out great.”

“Want to attempt an explanation?”

“Sure. Yeah. I had a Christmas present for Brenda. I bought it before… Before everything happened. I had this big idea I was going to take her somewhere nice—like maybe over to the coast to dinner or something, but the shit hit the fan. So I took her out to the site to park where I could give her this
beautiful bracelet I bought her.” He smiled. “With your money, by the way.”

“And what happened?” Paul asked coyly.

“Well, it worked pretty good. She loved it. It was good for many kisses, if you want to know. But that damn little truck, you know? So I got this idea—I spotted your fifth wheel and helped myself to it. Honest to God, Paul, I would’ve asked—but I didn’t even think of that ahead of time.”

“So. Were you having teenage sex in my trailer?” he asked.

“Oh, hell no!” Tommy said. “Jeez, man, I’m not having sex with Brenda!” Then he smiled. “I am having some very nice making out with her, however.”

“Listen, Tommy—maybe we should talk….”

“Aw, save it. I’ve had this talk a hundred times. I’m not having sex, much to my disappointment. I’d love to be having sex, don’t get me wrong. But Brenda’s a nice girl, and she doesn’t move fast—which I happen to like, by the way. And besides, I’m still a virgin. You tell anybody that, I’ll have to kill you.”

Paul felt himself smile. “So, what did you do in my trailer?”

“Come on, Paul. Don’t you think that’s a little nosy on your part?”

“Under the circumstances…?”

“Man, I just wanted to feel something soft up against me, you know? This month has been so ugly. So horrible. Tonight was actually nice. We just kind of held each other, made out like rock stars and—” He got this look on his face, this dreamy faraway look. “She said she loved me.”

“Whoa! Come on.”

“I’m pretty sure it was the bracelet.”

“Give yourself a little credit,” Paul said.

“I’m giving myself credit for thinking of the bracelet. God, she is so hot.”

“You can’t use my fifth wheel to make out in,” Paul said. “You’re going to end up having sex. I can smell it. I’d feel like an accomplice or something.”

“I hope you’re right,” he said with a laugh. “But I don’t think you are. At least not anytime soon. Brenda’s pretty worried about stuff like that. So…when did you actually lose it? You know.”

“I was over seventeen,” Paul said, smiling. “I think that’s graphic enough. Do you have condoms, in case…”

“Oh, brother,” he said. “Ask yourself. Did the general give the boy condoms? Holy shit, Paul—he watched me stretch ’em over bananas. I’m surprised he didn’t make me model one. He’s probably counting ’em every day when I go to school. I kind of want to throw a few away just to get his heart rate up. Yeah, I have condoms. And—I’m not willing to rely on condoms, how’s that? I’m not having sex with anyone who doesn’t also have her own birth control—and we haven’t had that conversation, me and Brenda. You happy yet?”

“I’m getting there.”

“I’m not going to take advantage of Brenda. I really care about her. Nothing that risky is going to happen between us until it’s right for her. And when it’s right for her, she’s going to be safe and I’m going to make her safer. She’s important to me, man. I’m not going to mess her up.”

Damn, Paul thought. The boy’s got serious game. “You can’t use my fifth wheel to make out in,” he said, but he grinned when he said it because jeez, the boy was so cute. It made him nostalgic. He remembered a certain prom date that he was sure,
sure
was going to be it for him. It wasn’t. It came
later, when he least expected it. Paul found himself almost hoping the kid could get lucky. “You understand, right?”

“Sure. But you’re not pissed off about tonight?”

“Nah, I can live with it. You’re sure nothing scary happened? Because if it did, even with a condom, we can still get ahead of it.”

“Yeah, I know about that, too. The little morning-after pill. Believe me, the only thing I don’t know about sex is how good it feels.”

I
t came too soon—the trial against Jerome Powell for rape. In the third week of January Brie and Mike returned to Sacramento so that she could testify against him. They went ahead of time so that Brie could be prepped. When the trial date arrived, Jack was determined to be there, but Mel couldn’t leave her women—Lilly had grown very ill and Vanni was in advanced pregnancy and in a state of grief. Paige and Preacher promised to back her up, as did John Stone, but still, it was very hard for Jack to leave her.

While jury selection and opening arguments were presented, Brie sat in the same room with her rapist. With her were her partner, her brother, her father, her sisters. She was definitely shored up—but the fact was she could have had the entire Marine Corps marching band sitting with her and she would still have felt shaken and vulnerable. She revisited the crime in her mind, over and over. They were all hoping that this ordeal could be dispensed with quickly.

There was a good case against Powell. Even though he’d worn a condom so as not to leave his DNA behind, the rape kit
performed on Brie at the hospital had turned up hair, plus they’d found
her
gun in his possession. He claimed to have found it.

However, the defense had been able to suppress any testimony of earlier arrests or trials, which precluded Brie from explaining that her positive ID was based on the fact that she had prosecuted him. Since she had failed to convict him, she couldn’t testify to that. The defense suggested she might falsely accuse him in a rage at having lost the case against him.

Brie didn’t have to be in court as often as she was—she could have waited to be called to testify. But she wanted to get used to seeing him, to bolster herself before her testimony, and she wanted him to see her, to know how it was going to go down. The prosecutor was not going to accept a plea agreement under these circumstances, the crime being retribution against an officer of the court.

But seeing him every day didn’t bolster her, or calm her. Now she knew exactly how her witnesses had felt. Brie barely slept, had trouble eating and felt as though she were vibrating under her skin. The illogical reaction—all emotional—was hard for her to accept. After all, he was in custody; he couldn’t reach her. And right beside her were two powerfully strong men who would stop at nothing to keep her safe. Yet the very sight of him was making her sick.

Jerome Powell was six feet tall, tan from his stay in Florida, his blond hair thick and floppy, his jaw square. He had a big smile, one that certain women could be drawn to. He had very large hands, strong arms from working construction and was powerfully built. His eyes were dark, close together and sunken under hooded brows.

He glared at Brie. Sometimes he smiled at her, which made
her stomach turn. Every time he turned his head to look at her, she felt Jack and Mike tense beside her. She looked up at their profiles, her lover and her brother, and watched the dangerous tics and tension in their expressions. These were completely fearless men—Jerome Powell should be as afraid of getting off as going to prison. But he sat calmly, unafraid, arrogant.

In the evening, conversation at Sam’s was subdued and superficial. Mike, Jack and Sam took to the patio after dinner while one or two of Brie’s sisters dropped by the house to spend time with her, being there for her. And at night, in bed, Mike would curl himself protectively around her, holding her closely, whispering to her that he loved her, that he was proud of her, that he could not imagine her courage.

“I could not get through this without you,” she told him.

“I think you could, you’re that strong. But I’m glad you don’t have to. You’ll never have to go through anything alone again.”

When the day for Brie to testify finally arrived she went bravely and calmly to the stand to be sworn in. No testimony about her prosecution of him for previous crimes could be admitted by the prosecutor, so she was left to describe the details of her rape. As she took her seat and looked into the courtroom, she saw Brad in the back. Well, she thought, he was a part of it all, like it or not. Maybe they could all get their closure and get on with their lives.

“I had to work late and wasn’t home until after midnight. I opened the garage door, but I parked in the drive because the garage was full of junk that I’d been meaning to clean out for months. My car door wasn’t even closed when I was grabbed from behind, by the hair. He smashed my head into the top of the car. Then an arm came around my neck, choking
me. I dropped my briefcase and was trying to get into my purse. I carried a gun. But the purse was flung away—I’m not sure if he did it or if I lost control of it in the struggle.”

“Did you struggle, Ms. Sheridan?”

“I fought with everything I had, and he hit me, three or four times in the face. I blacked out for a moment. When I came to, I was on the ground and he was leaning over me. He was smiling. It was so evil, so terrifying, I froze. That’s when he reached under my skirt and tore my hose and my underwear off. Well, not off. Down. He held a hand around my throat to keep me still while he undid his trousers with his other hand. I was choking.”

She looked at her brother and Mike. Jack frowned and looked down, but Mike held her gaze. Steady. She knew that inside he was in terrible pain, hearing what she’d been through, but for her he kept a strong front, chin up, eyes level.

“Did he say anything?” the prosecutor asked.

“Objection. Your Honor?”

The judge put his hand over the microphone and leaned toward Brie. “Can you answer the question without introducing any prohibited information?”

“Of course,” she said. She had to focus on the lawyers’ faces. “He said, ‘Look at me. I want you to see my face. I’m not leaving any evidence behind. I’m not going to kill you. I want you to live.’”

“And did that make you feel safe?” the prosecutor asked.

“He was putting on a condom as he said that. When it was on, he raped me, holding me down at the neck. I thought I was going to choke to death. I felt like I was being ripped apart. When he was done, he pulled his pants up and I watched—that condom went with him, inside his pants. Then he stood up and kicked me several times. I lost conscious
ness.” She went on to describe the injuries she sustained as photos taken at the hospital were passed around the jury box. Her voice was steady, her words well chosen and clear, but tears ran down her cheeks and dripped onto hands folded in her lap. And inside, her stomach churned violently. It was almost enough to double her over.

“Did he say anything else?”

“Objection! Your Honor?”

“Sustained,” he said.

“That’s all I have for now,” the prosecutor said.

The defense attorney got up and started asking her questions about the time of night, whether she was tired, did she wear glasses, was it dark or was the drive well lit, all aimed at throwing doubt on her ability to make an ID. The room began to sway before her eyes and she wavered a bit. The judge leaned over and asked her if she could continue. “You’re looking a little pale,” he pointed out.

“Let’s just do it,” she whispered back.

The defense took up an hour with questions about her schedule, her health, her mental stability, even her divorce. Finally he said, “Did you pick the suspect out of a lineup?”

“No. He fled.”

“Did the police show you photos?”

“I did look at photos, yes.”

“And that was how long ago?”

“Seven months ago,” she said, and her face glistened in sweat.

“Do you see the man you identified in this room? This man you identified to police as your rapist?”

“Right there,” she said, pointing. “Jerome Powell.”

“And you’re confident that a man you identified from a photo seven months ago is this man?”

Her head snapped up, her eyes wide, at attention. The prosecutor in her had kicked in.

“Yes or no, Ms. Sheridan.”

She leaned forward. “No,” she answered.

By the look on his face, the defense attorney immediately knew what he’d done.

“Your Honor, may we approach?” Brie’s lawyer asked.

The lawyers went to the bench and a heated argument ensued, every bit of which Brie could hear. The prosecutor argued that he was entitled to explore that last answer while the defense argued that it would ultimately introduce testimony on evidence not allowed. At length the judge admonished the defense attorney that he had opened the door and the prosecution could proceed.

“Ms. Sheridan,” the prosecutor asked, “how is it you’re not confident that the man you identified from the photo is this man?”

“Because I looked at photos, but I didn’t identify him from a photo.”

“And how did you identify your rapist?”

“I gave the police his name. I knew him.”

“And how did you know him?”

“I was an assistant district attorney when he raped me. I had just prosecuted him for the serial rape of six women—and I lost.”

So much noise erupted in the room that the judge had to bang his gavel several times and threaten to clear the courtroom.

When the din had finally subsided, the prosecutor asked her, “Did he say anything else to you, Ms. Sheridan?”

“Yes. He said, ‘I’m not going to kill you. I want you to try to come after me again, and watch me walk again.’”

The place went crazy with gasps and murmurings, the judge banging his gavel again and again. But it was at that moment that Brie allowed herself to look again at Mike. Her lips curved in a very small smile as she locked eyes with him. Even at that distance she could feel the pride in his gaze. Love and pride and commitment. He smiled at her and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. She’d done it. She’d got him. It was why she’d come.

“That’s all I have for Ms. Sheridan,” the ADA said.

The defense tried to recover, asking Brie if there was any chance she was out to get this guy, since she had failed to convict him before. Her voice clear and strong, even knowing that possibility would be contained in the defense attorney’s closing arguments, she said, “And leave another rapist out there?
My
rapist? The police not even searching for him because they thought they had the suspect? Not
hardly.
”

“Perhaps you couldn’t identify your rapist, Ms. Sheridan, and saw your chance to go after the defendant.”

“Objection,” the prosecutor shouted. “Your Honor!”

The judge leveled his gaze on the defense. “Was there a question in there or are you just testing me to see what it’ll take to find you in contempt?”

“Is that possible, Ms. Sheridan?”

“It is not,” she said. “I saw him, I knew him, I identified him.”

“You may step down, Ms. Sheridan.”

She rose on shaky legs, grateful to be finished, to have finished strong. No way they could let him go now. No way a single jury member could doubt. Now that the door was open to Powell’s motivation for raping her, they could look at his past, at his previous arrests.

She stepped down and started toward Mike. Then she collapsed.

When Brie had delivered her final statement Mike saw her face go pale, then white. As she left the stand and started to walk toward him, he noticed that her eyes had become glassy and she wasn’t walking in a straight line. He started to come to his feet just as she fainted. “Brie!” he yelled. The bailiff stopped him until the prosecutor identified him as her husband—though he was not.

Mike rushed to her. By the time he lifted her head, her eyes were opening. “I did it, darling.”

“Can we get an ambulance here?” Mike yelled.

“On the way, sir,” someone said.

“Lo siento mucho,”
she whispered. “I’m sorry you had to go through all this.”

“Shh, it’s okay, baby. You’re done with it now. All of it.”

“
Te amo,
Miguel. I love you.”

“Te amo mucho,”
he said. “It’s over, baby.”

Every afternoon when it was almost David’s nap time, Mel would drive out to the Andersen ranch. Doc went out there every morning and most evenings. They’d been doing this since the second week in January when Lilly’s chemo and radiation had been suspended. There comes a time in every life when the curtain is coming down, and when that time is present and there’s no way to turn back the clock, the best answer is dignity and peace.

When Mel arrived at the ranch, she greeted family members and put David down in Chloe’s crib with his afternoon bottle where he would sleep for a couple of hours. Then she went to Lilly’s bedroom, checked the morphine drip and kissed her on the forehead. “How’s my girl today?” she asked.

“I think this is a good day to talk to the kids,” she said weakly. “I don’t want to miss my opportunity.”

“Okay,” Mel said.

“Will you help me?”

“Of course. Let’s see who we can gather up.”

Mel went to the living room and kitchen. Lilly’s daughters were there, her sons out in the barn with their dad. “Your mom wants to talk to you about something important. Can you round up your dad and brothers?”

“I’ll go,” Sheila said.

Back in the bedroom, sitting down again beside Lilly and taking her hand, Mel said, “It’s going to be okay, you know.”

“I know. I owe you so much, Mel.”

“Oh, it’s the other way around. If I hadn’t found Chloe on Doc’s porch, I’d have made it all the way to Colorado Springs without ever knowing my husband, without having my children.”

Only five of Lilly’s seven kids were present, but that was enough for her to make a clean breast of it. Buck stayed in the kitchen with Chloe, bouncing her on his knee as he had with the six children before her. “This is going to shock you,” Lilly said to her grown children. “I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me. I lied to you. I was a little bit crazy,” she said, and then was sent into a coughing fit and had to rest for a little while, her children looking at each other in confusion.

“Whew,” Lilly said when she recovered. “I have to get this over with. Chloe isn’t adopted,” she said weakly. “I gave birth to her, right here, in this bed. I covered my pregnancy with large and loose clothes and put her on Doc’s doorstep. Mel?” she said, looking up at her.