He drove along wondering if he could ever get over the way he felt about Chrissie. He held her responsible for ruining his life and scarring Robbie and Heather forever. She’s the bitch that kicked me out. Craig realized he was not ready to deal with her. It was too soon. The wound was new and still bleeding heavily.
* * *
Craig lay in bed that night thinking about his kids. The motel was quiet. The weekend was over, and everyone with a home to go to—had gone. Craig had the place to himself.
“I miss my kids,” he whispered in the dark. “Please, God—take care of them for me, and let me see them soon.” It surprised Craig he was actually praying out loud. Who else do we talk to when we’re alone in the dark and afraid? Who else would listen to us? Who else would want to?
He heard an approaching siren and looked over at the window. The light of the motel’s yellow security floodlights had found a small part in the curtains. The light shone off the imitation wood coffee table casting an eerie glow in the room. Craig was too tired, too emotionally exhausted, to get out of bed and fix the curtain. He fell asleep wondering if he had a safety pin.
* * *
The next morning, Craig was dressed and ready by eight-thirty. He decided to stop in the motel office before going back home to pick up the rest of his stuff. A typewritten notice on the dresser in his room had informed him:
“The Sunset Motel is pleased to offer our guests a complimentry [sic] continental breakfast served from 6:00 AM to 9:00 AM every morning in the Lobby.”
Craig chuckled at the obvious spelling error and thought, Hey, if they’re pleased to offer it, it must be good.
He was still smiling when he opened the door to the so-called lobby. The motel office was deserted. He could hear the old couple yelling at each other back in the owner’s residence. Craig couldn’t decide if they were angry or simply hard of hearing. He decided to quietly help himself. He didn’t want to speak to anyone.
The complimentary continental breakfast consisted of a store bought package of small powdered sugar donuts, accompanied by horrible metallic tasting coffee from a huge silver percolator. Craig found a stack of small Styrofoam cups beside the percolator and poured coffee from the spigot. He dumped in a packet of powdered creamer and attempted to stir the floating white lumps with a red plastic stir stick. Some kinda classy joint I live in, he thought. Craig blew on his coffee in a vain attempt to cool it. He passed on the donuts.
His house looked different as Craig pulled up and parked. Guess everything looks weird, he thought, when your world turns upside down. Actually, everything was normal. The garage door was closed, and toys were strewn on the front lawn. Robbie’s bike was lying in the driveway near the sidewalk to the front door.
Craig walked up to the house feeling like a stranger, or a thief casing the joint. He could hear his golden retriever Stella barking through the side fence, as if to say: “Hi, Craig, I know it’s you.”
He peeked through the small windows on the garage door. No car. Good, I was hoping she’d be at work. He was sure Robbie would be at school and Heather at daycare.
He put the key into the front door and turned it. The lock felt like it was frozen. Craig thought he had used the wrong key. He checked the key. It was the right one. He tried again.
“Damn! She changed the locks! Now what?”
Craig went around to the side door of the garage. The door was warped and needed replacement. Craig knew the kids never closed that door tightly, let alone locked it. Stella was going bananas on the other side of the backyard fence. Her tail was wagging frantically. She whined as she tried to get her snout through the slats.
“Hey, Stella.” Craig knelt down so Stella could lick his hand. “How’s my girl? Being a good dog?” Stella loved Craig. He was with her when she had her pups. She wouldn’t let anyone else near her—only Craig.
Craig tried the door. He was right. It was unlocked. “Wait here, girl.” Craig always talked to Stella like she could actually understand English. “I’ll be right back.”
On the day he left, Craig’s little Toyota was packed full. He had to leave the rest of his stuff under a tarp in the garage. Chrissie would never notice. The only reason she went into the garage was to get her car. Craig lifted the tarp, and his possessions were right where he left them. They had no real value; a few boxes of pictures, extra clothes, his tools, his golf clubs, tennis and squash rackets and the old steamer trunk his mother had given him. He had no place to store his mountain bike, propane barbecue and chain saw. He would have to leave them behind. Craig picked up the chain saw. Should of used that when I had the chance. He immediately felt guilty for even thinking such a thing. He smiled all the same.
Craig was loading his car when his nosy neighbor Karl Freedman walked up. “Hey, Craig. Heard you’re going through a tough time.”
“Yeah, things could be better.” Craig looked at him, but Karl wasn’t making eye contact.
“Well, Jean and I talked to Chrissie after you left on Saturday and—well, she told us some things about you. Quite frankly, we were appalled.”
Craig continued to pack his car. “What kind of things, Karl? I’d like to know.”
“Well, she says you were nasty to her—said you abused her mentally and threatened her with physical harm. She also said the kids are afraid of you. Now, we know every story has two sides, and we aren’t taking sides but— ”
“ —you believed her,” Craig said. “Didn’t you just say there are two sides to every story, Karl?”
“Yes, but you never know what goes on behind closed doors, do you— ”
“That’s right, Karl—you don’t!” Craig got into his car and slammed the door. Looking in his rearview mirror as he drove away, he saw Karl walking back across the street. Craig wondered why people feel the need to choose sides in a divorce. Then, he thought about the lies Chrissie was spreading about him.
His anger rattled the cage door.
CHAPTER THREE
Lorne
Lorne Davis was not happy. Someone had parked in his spot. Many things could propel him into a fit of rage, but this was special. This one, he took personally. Probably some low life deadbeat. He dialed his car phone with his thumb. He’ll wish he’d picked another spot.
Lorne knew a guy who worked for a cutthroat towing company. They loved to tow vehicles off private property. They charged their prey whatever they wanted. Few complained — they simply wanted their vehicle back. Lorne called the dispatcher. “It’s an old beater. Pontiac or Chev. Hard to tell ‘cause it’s such a piece of crap! Anyway, it’s in my assigned parking spot. I want it gone—now!” Lorne parked in the visitor’s lot, grabbed his briefcase and headed for his office. What a fun way to start your day, he thought. He meant it.
Lorne was one of the top lawyers in the Department of Justice’s Office for Support Order Enforcement, more commonly known as the SOE. Their head office was located on the fourth floor of what, from the outside, appeared to be a typical government building. Inside, however, visitors quickly realized why it had earned the nickname the “Fortress.” The level of security was far from typical. What appeared to be normal outside windows on the lower floors were a façade. They disguised impenetrable thick glass blocks that were both bomb and bulletproof. The floors, ceilings and walls were re-enforced with steel and concrete. The building and surrounding grounds were under constant surveillance by security cameras and personnel.
Admittance to the building was restricted to authorized personnel only after an I.D. card swipe, a search of personal belongings and a walk through a metal detector. Visitors with a confirmed appointment were security screened and escorted to an anteroom off the main lobby. Armed and highly trained personnel manned the main security booth. Anyone who approached the booth, for any reason, was considered suspicious. Delivery people joked they should have bumper stickers with t
he slogan: “I survived The Fortress!”
Lorne swiped his I.D. card and handed the guard his briefcase.
“Open it please, sir.”
“Everyday, it’s the same thing!” Lorne said. “Open your briefcase for us, sir! You guys know who I am!”
The guard clearly knew who he was. He’d dealt with this clown every day for over a year. “We treat everyone the same, sir. No exceptions.” He examined the contents of the briefcase. “Now, sir, please remove all the metal objects from your pockets and proceed through the x-ray.”
Lorne deliberately sighed then placed his car keys, coins and a pen in a small plastic tray. He walked through the x-ray arch. The guard gave Lorne the look security saves for the rude and obnoxious. What an idiot, the guard thought. I’d love to tell him what I really think of him. The guard handed Lorne the plastic basket. “Have a nice day, sir. And please don’t forget your briefcase.” He wasn’t about to risk his job just for the satisfaction of telling this guy off—not today anyway.
Lorne ignored him, walked to the entry door and waited with his hand on the handle. He turned and stared at the security booth until the familiar buzz of the electronic lock signaled it was open. He made sure they saw him shake his head in exasperation and roll his eyes at some imaginary being in the ceiling. In the elevator, he gave the security camera his usual Lorne-is-not-impressed glare all the way up to the fourth floor. The guards at the desk made funny faces and rude gestures at his image on the screen.
“Good morning, Mr. Davis,” the receptionist chirped. “Here are your phone messages, sir.”
“Thanks.” Lorne could never remember her name.
Today’s court files were piled neatly on the corner of Lorne’s desk. His legal assistant Doug Anderson was relatively new to the job but had quickly learned Lorne wanted things done a certain way. He would not tolerate any deviation.
Whenever the “worker bees”, as Lorne called the administrative staff, met outside the office they begged Doug to do his impression of Lorne. After a few drinks, Doug would comply.
“Listen, you lowly worker bee you, there’s the right way, the wrong way and the Lorne way.” Doug would then mimic Lorne and push his glasses up on his nose with his forefinger. “You do it my way or it’s the byway, or the highway, or some way. Just do it!” Everyone would laugh themselves silly and give Doug high fives all around. Some would even attempt their own version of a Lorne impression. They despised Lorne Davis with a passion.
Lorne exited the Fortress as the tow truck operator was lifting the front end of the vehicle occupying his parking spot. He drove out of the lot and headed north on Fourth Avenue. Lorne wanted to avoid the mid-town traffic and planned to turn onto Glenrose Parkway.
Checking his side-mirror, he saw a car behind him that looked familiar. He thought it had been parked across the street from the Fortress when he left a few moments ago. Is that the same car, or am I being paranoid? Lorne left the Parkway at the next exit. He checked the rear view mirror to see if the vehicle exited as well.
“He did!” Lorne was now officially panicked. He needed a plan. He began to babble out loud. “Okay, okay, settle down so you can think. All right ... all right … Okay, I got it! Where’s the closest cop shop? Let’s see ... I’m between Water and Fourteenth. No! I’m way past Fourteenth—”
The vehicle behind him was gone. Where’d he go? Lorne cranked his neck around wildly, looking from side to side. He must have turned.
As he pulled over and parked to regain his composure, Lorne’s heart was pounding in his ears. He had to get a grip on himself. He was a seasoned lawyer. He should always keep his emotions in check. He chuckled to himself as he stated his car. I’m obviously suffering from an overactive imagination.
As he drove along, he analyzed what had happened. He was an intelligent and learned person. Logic told him he had nothing to fear. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to be more observant. Some of the men he had prosecuted were capable of anything. He knew who they were, but, more importantly, they knew who he was.
I’d better give Roy Wood a call, Lorne thought. Twenty years as a detective on the police force shoulda taught him something. If Roy can’t help me—nobody can.
* * *
Lorne was parking at the courthouse when his car phone rang. “Lorne Davis.” He used his best official sounding voice.
“Lorne. Roy Wood here. You called?”
“Thanks for getting back to me, Roy. I think I’ve got a problem.” Lorne explained about the car that followed him from the Fortress. He told him he thought he’d seen the same vehicle before but couldn’t remember exactly where. He described the car as an older dark-colored four-door sedan.
“That doesn’t help at all, Lorne. Did you catch the plate?”
“No.” Lorne anticipated his next question. “And I can’t describe the driver either.”
Detective Sergeant Roy Wood was an exceptional investigator. He never ruled out any possibility. He was tenacious and knew every trick. He assumed everyone lied in an investigation. Those accused of a crime lied purposely. Witnesses lied unintentionally. Roy would not allow anything or anyone to divert him from his search for the truth. His nickname was: “The Lie Detector.” In most cases, he was able to uncover the truth.
“Not much to go on, Lorne. I’ll make up an incident report, but that’s it for now.”
Lorne knew Roy was right not to waste any more time on this. This is what Lorne admired about him. Roy didn’t mince words. He was concise and didn’t waste his time, or yours. The one thing plainclothes cops have in short supply is time. They don’t have enough hours in the day to deal with real crime, let alone something as trivial as this.
“I appreciate anything you can do, Roy. I’ll let you know if it happens again.”
“Anytime, Lorne. Take care.” Roy hung up without waiting for Lorne to say good-bye. Cops, Lorne thought, my kind of people. He believed good manners were a waste of time—except with the ladies.
Lorne entered the rear of the courthouse through the staff entrance. Once again, he was subjected to a security search. Everyone working in Family Court, including Lorne, accepted the necessity of strict security. It’s a dangerous place; emotions run high and a weapon of any type is the last thing you want inside the building.
After clearing security, Lorne stopped at the Clerk’s Office to confirm his docket was up to date. Mildred Landry, one of the assistant clerks, was behind the counter when he walked in. She had worked here for thirty years and knew the ropes as well as anyone.
“Morning, Mr. Davis.” Mildred pulled his docket files out from under the counter. “One change today on the Hodgson default hearing in Courtroom Two. Mrs. Hodgson is here and would like to talk to you before court.” Lorne was surprised Hodgson’s wife was here. He did not require her testimony.
Lorne picked up the files and headed for the door. “Where is she?”
Mildred knew Lorne had no patience and would quickly disappear. “She’s upstairs in Interview Room Six. Her name is Loretta, and she’s an attractive brunette wearing a cream colored suit with a —”
He was gone. Mildred knew Lorne was not well liked, but she respected his ability and dedication on behalf of his clients. Most were single moms requiring regular support payments to provide for their children. Mildred knew how tough it was to raise kids on your own. Her ex-husband left her with five kids when he ran away with an exotic dancer. He never paid any child support and the SOE couldn’t find him. She always believed fathers who didn’t pay deserved to be prosecuted. She liked Lorne because he showed them no mercy.
* * *
Loretta Hodgson was anxious. She wasn’t sure what she was going to say to the Justice Department lawyer. She was also worried about the possibility of running into her ex-husband Garth. She wanted to avoid him because she didn’t know how he would react. He was still
angry about her infidelity. On top of that, these default proceedings had put Garth under a great deal of pressure. The SOE had threatened to throw him in jail. Loretta now regretted contacting the SOE. She hoped to convince the lawyer to go easy on Garth. He was trying hard to find work and was seeing the kids regularly.
Garth was a gentle man and had never been violent. He didn’t like confrontation and normally would not argue. Loretta had only seen his temper a few times. On those rare occasions, he would storm out of the house to cool off. He never even considered raising a hand to her. He thought men who hit their wives were cowards. For the first time in a long time, Loretta found herself missing her ex-husband.
A well-groomed man in his late thirties walked into the interview room. He was wearing a navy blue pinstriped suit, had salt and pepper hair and horn-rimmed glasses. He was carrying an expensive leather briefcase and a handful of file folders.
“Loretta Hodgson?”
“Yes.”
Lorne placed his briefcase on the wooden table and piled the folders beside it. He picked up the top file. “Nice to meet you. I’m Lorne Davis, the lawyer for the Support Order Enforcement Office. I’ll be conducting the default hearing against your ex-husband … uh.” Lorne quickly checked the file. “Sorry, Garth. I hope you realize, ma’am, you’re not required here today.”
“Yes, sir. I’m aware of that. Oh, and very nice to meet you too.” Loretta explained to Lorne she wanted to talk to him about her ex-husband. She didn’t want Garth to go to jail. “I just want him to know the money is for his kids and to pay what he owes. He really is a good man and—”
“With all due respect, ma’am. I’ve dealt with many, many default cases like this. If we’re lenient, he’ll perceive it as weakness and won’t pay. These types only understand tough justice. We have to get their undivided attention. Your ex-husband has to know—it’s pay up or go to jail. Understand?”