The Good Daughter

  12

  Sam carefully negotiated the steep loading ramp outside the courthouse. The stench of rotting food had dissipated, or perhaps she had become accustomed to the smell. She looked up at the sky. The orange sun grazed the distant mountaintops. Dusk was a few hours away. She had no idea where she was going to sleep tonight, but she had to speak to Rusty before she left town.

  He needed to know that Kelly Wilson could be carrying the motive for her crimes in her belly.

  Morning sickness did not always come in the morning. Sometimes, it came in the afternoon, but the key factor was that it came at roughly the same time every day, commonly during the first trimester. That would explain why Kelly was missing classes at school. It would also explain the round bump of her belly that Sam had felt when she had hugged the girl so tightly.

  Kelly Wilson was several weeks pregnant.

  Lenore’s red car made a wide circle, stopping a few feet from the bottom of the ramp.

  “Sammy!” Charlie jumped out of the front seat. “You were fucking fantastic in there! Oh my God!” She threw her hand around Sam’s waist. “Let me help you.”

  “Give me a minute,” Sam said. Her body was at that point where standing was easier than sitting down. “You could’ve warned me about the judge.”

  “I said he was a hard-ass,” Charlie said. “But, Jesus, you made him smile. I’ve never seen him smile. And you had Coin sputtering like a broken sprinkler. That stupid asshole laid out his case right in the middle of the arraignment.”

  Lenore got out of the car.

  Charlie was beaming. “Didn’t my big sister play Ken Coin like a fucking fiddle?”

  Lenore said, “‘I was impressed,’ she said begrudgingly.”

  “That judge.” Sam took off her glasses to rub her eyes. “I had forgotten—”

  “That you look like a Victorian-era Dracula?”

  “Dracula was set in Victorian times.” Sam put on her glasses. “Rusty’s top priority should be finding an expert to evaluate Kelly. Either she’s deficient, or she’s clever enough to pretend. She could be fooling us all.”

  Charlie huffed a laugh. “Dad maybe, but she can’t fool you.”

  “Didn’t you say that I was too smart to know how stupid I am?”

  “You’re right. We need an expert,” Charlie said. “We’ll also have to find someone who’s good with false confessions. You know that hospital recording is going to show hope of benefit.”

  “Maybe.” Sam was worried that Ken and Keith Coin were too clever to show their work. Hope of benefit, or any false inducement such as the promise of a lesser charge in exchange for a confession, was illegal. “I can find an expert in New York. Someone will need to comb the recordings to make certain they’ve been unedited. Does Rusty have an investigator?”

  Lenore said, “Jimmy Jack Little.”

  Sam would not dither over the foolish name. “Jimmy Jack needs to locate a young man named Adam Humphrey.”

  “What’s he looking for?” Lenore asked.

  “Humphrey could be someone in whom Kelly confided.”

  “She was screwing him, or was he trying to screw her?”

  Sam shrugged, because that was all she could really give without breaking privilege. “I don’t think Kelly goes to school with him. Perhaps he graduated? The only detail I got was that he drives a Camaro.”

  “Classy,” Charlie said. “Maybe he’s in the yearbook? Either his photo or he wrote something down. Did Kelly say he was her boyfriend?”

  “Undetermined,” Sam said. Kelly Wilson might not fully understand the oath of confidentiality, but Sam did not take the pledge lightly. “Does Rusty know that Lucy Alexander’s father was Kelly’s teacher?” The man could be a second suspect in the paternity hunt. She asked Lenore, “If you could generate for Rusty a list of all of Kelly’s teachers—”

  “You know that’s their angle,” Charlie said. “Kelly was mad that Mr. Alexander was going to flunk her, so she took a gun to school and killed his daughter.”

  That wouldn’t be their case if a positive pregnancy test came out.

  Charlie opened her mouth to speak.

  “Shush,” Lenore nodded behind them.

  Ben was coming down the ramp, hands in his pockets, hair tousled by the wind. He grinned at Sam. “You should be a lawyer when you grow up.”

  She smiled back. “I’ll think about it.”

  “You were amazing.” Ben squeezed her shoulder. “Rusty’s going to be really proud of you.”

  Sam felt her smile soften. The last thing she had ever wanted was Rusty’s approval. “Thank you.”

  “Babe,” Charlie said. “Didn’t my sister kill it?”

  He nodded. “She killed it.”

  Charlie reached up to neaten his hair with her fingers, but Ben was already stepping back. He stepped forward again, but her hand went down. The uneasiness was back.

  Sam tried, “Ben, can we all have dinner together?”

  “I’m going to be busy putting my boss together after that shredding you gave him, but thank you for asking.” His eyes darted toward Charlie, then back again. “But, hey, Sam. I didn’t know about the video at the hospital. I was at the station all day yesterday. I found out about the arraignment half an hour before it started.” He shrugged one shoulder, the same way Charlie did. “I don’t play dirty like that.”

  Sam said, “I believe you.”

  “I’d better get back.” Ben reached for Lenore’s hand. “Make sure they get home safe.”

  He headed up the ramp, hands tucked deep into his pockets.

  Charlie cleared her throat. She watched him with a longing that pierced Sam’s heart. She had seen her sister cry more today than when they were children. Sam wanted to drag her sister after Ben and make Charlie beg for forgiveness. She was so damn obstinate. She never apologized for anything.

  “Get in the car.” Lenore climbed behind the wheel. She slammed the door.

  Sam gave Charlie a questioning look, but she shrugged as she crawled across the back seat, leaving space for Sam.

  Lenore was pulling away as Sam shut the door.

  Charlie asked, “Where are we going?”

  “Office.” Lenore turned onto the main road. She sped through a yellow light.

  “My car is at the police station,” Charlie said. “Is there a reason we’re going to the office?”

  “Yes,” was all Lenore would give.

  This seemed to be enough for Charlie. She slumped down in the seat. She looked out the window. Sam guessed that she was thinking about Ben. The urge to grab Charlie, to shake some sense into her, was overwhelming. Why had her sister imperiled her marriage? Ben was the one good thing she had in her life.

  Lenore turned down another side street. Sam finally got her bearings. They were on the bad side of town now, the place where the tourist dollars had stopped. Every building looked as derelict as it had thirty years ago.

  Lenore held up a miniature Starship Enterprise. “Ben gave me this.”

  Sam had no idea why he would give Lenore a toy.

  Charlie seemed to know. “He shouldn’t have done that.”

  Lenore said, “Well, he did.”

  “Throw it away,” Charlie said. “Put it in the blender.”

  Sam asked, “Can someone tell me—”

  “It’s a thumb drive,” Charlie said. “And I’m guessing that it has something on it that will help our case.”

  “Exactly,” Lenore said.

  “Throw it the fuck away,” Charlie said, enunciating each word. “He’ll get in trouble. He’ll get fired. Or worse.”

  Lenore tucked the thumb drive down the front of her bra.

  “I’m not a part of this.” Charlie held up her hands. “If you get Ben disbarred, I will never forgive you.”

  “Add it to the list.” Lenore swung the car down another side street. The old stationery supply building had been slightly altered. The plate glass in the front was boarded over. Thick security bars striped the other win
dows. The gated entrance was new, too. Sam was reminded of the wild animal park at the San Diego Zoo as the gate buzzed open, ushering them into a walled sanctum behind the building.

  “You’re going to open the thumb drive?” Charlie asked.

  “I’m going to open the thumb drive,” Lenore said.

  Charlie looked to Sam for help.

  Sam shrugged. “He wanted us to have it.”

  “I fucking hate both of you.” Charlie jumped out of the car. She had the security door open, then the regular door, before Sam could speak with her.

  Lenore said, “We can open the file in my office.”

  Charlie stomped around a corner, turning on lights as she went.

  Sam did not know whether to follow her sister or to give Charlie’s anger time to burn itself out. She felt wary of her sister. She was so changeable—celebrating Sam’s courtroom performance one minute, then denigrating her for doing her job the next. There was an undercurrent of misery flowing through Charlie that eventually pulled everything down.

  “I’m this way.” Lenore nodded toward the other side of the building.

  Sam followed her up another long hallway that was tinged with the odor of Rusty’s cigarettes. Sam tried to recall the last time she had been exposed to second-hand smoke. Probably in Paris before the indoor smoking ban.

  They passed a closed door with Rusty’s name on the sign outside. Sam would have guessed this was his office from the smell alone. The rays of nicotine radiating from the door offered a further clue.

  Lenore said, “He hasn’t smoked in the building for years. He brings it in on his clothes.”

  Sam frowned. She had so many things wrong with her body that she could not imagine why someone would purposefully damage themselves. If two heart attacks did not serve as a wake-up call, nothing would.

  Lenore pulled a set of keys from her purse. She held her clutch under her arm as she unlocked the door. She turned on the lights. Sam narrowed her eyes as they protested against the sudden, bright light.

  When her pupils finally adjusted, she was met with a welcoming, tidy space. Lenore’s office was very blue. Light blue walls. Dark blue carpet. Pastel blue couch with throw pillows in various shades of blue. She said, “I like blue.”

  Sam stood by the couch. “It’s very nice.”

  “You can sit down.”

  “I think it’s better if I stand.”

  “Suit yourself.” Lenore sat at her desk.

  “My leg is—”

  “No explanation needed.” She leaned down and inserted the USB drive into her computer. She turned the monitor around so that Sam could see. “You want me to leave?”

  Sam did not want to be perceived as any ruder than before. “I’ll let you decide.”

  “I’ll stay.” Lenore clicked open the thumb drive. “One file. Just a series of numbers. Can you see?”

  Sam nodded. The extension read .mov, which meant the file was video. “Go ahead.”

  Lenore clicked the file name.

  The video opened.

  She clicked the button to make it fill the screen.

  The image could have been a photograph but for the numbers ticking in the corner: 07:58:47. A typical school hallway. Blue lockers. Tan tiled floor. The camera was tilted too far down. Only half of the hall was visible to the lens, about fifty feet of open space. The most distant point showed a thin slice of light that must have come from an open doorway. Posters were on the walls. Graffiti peppered the lockers. The entirety of the space was empty. The footage was grainy. The color was washed, more of a sepia tone.

  Lenore turned up the volume on the speakers. “No sound.”

  “Look,” Sam pointed to the monitor. As she’d watched, a piece of cinder block had spontaneously chipped away from the wall.

  “Gunshot,” Lenore said.

  Sam looked at the round bullet hole.

  A man ran into the hallway.

  He had entered the scene from behind the camera. His back was to them. White dress shirt. Dark pants. His hair was gray, styled in a typical man’s cut, short in the back, parted on the side.

  He stopped, abruptly, hands out in front of him.

  No, don’t.

  Lenore sucked air through her teeth as the man jerked violently once, then again, then again.

  Blood misted into the air.

  He collapsed to the floor. Sam saw his face.

  Douglas Pinkman.

  Shot once in the chest. Twice in the head. A black hole replaced his right eye.

  A river of blood began to flow around his body.

  Sam felt her hand cover her mouth.

  Lenore said, “Oh, God.”

  A small figure had rounded the corner. Her back was to the lens.

  Pigtails flopping on either side of her head.

  Princess backpack, shoes that lighted up, arms swinging.

  She came to an abrupt stop.

  Mr. Pinkman. Dead on the floor.

  Lucy Alexander fell quickly, landing on the incline of her backpack.

  Her head lolled back. Her legs splayed. Her shoes pointed up at the ceiling.

  The little girl tried in vain to raise her head. She touched her fingers to the open wound at her neck.

  Her mouth was moving.

  Judith Pinkman ran toward the camera. Her red shirt was a dull rust on the screen. She had her arms back, out to her sides, like a winged creature preparing to take flight. She passed her husband, then dropped to her knees beside Lucy.

  “Look,” Lenore said.

  Kelly Wilson finally came into the frame.

  Distant. Slightly out of focus. The girl was at the most remote reaches of the camera’s lens. She was dressed in all black. Her greasy hair hung around her shoulders. Her eyes were wide. Her mouth hung open. She held the revolver in her right hand.

  Like I said, the gun was in my hand.

  Kelly sat down on the floor. The left half of her body was out of the camera’s reach. Her back was to the lockers. The revolver stayed at her side, resting on the ground. She stared straight ahead.

  Lenore said, “A hair shy of eleven seconds from the moment the bullet went into the wall.” She pointed to the time in the corner. “I counted five shots total. One in the wall. Three in Pinkman. One in Lucy. That’s not what the simulation had on the news. They said Judith Pinkman was shot at twice, missed both times.”

  Sam let herself look at Lucy again.

  Judith Pinkman’s mouth was open as she screamed up at the ceiling.

  Sam read the grieving woman’s lips.

  Help me.

  Somewhere in the school, Charlie was hearing the woman’s pleas.

  Lenore held up the box of Kleenex on her desk.

  Sam took some tissues. She wiped her eyes. She blew her nose. She watched Judith Pinkman cradle her hand behind Lucy’s head. She tried in vain to staunch the wound that had opened the little girl’s neck. Blood seeped through her fingers as if she had squeezed a sponge. The woman was clearly sobbing, wailing from grief.

  Charlie came out of nowhere, leaping into the frame.

  She was running up the hallway, toward the camera, toward Lucy and Mrs. Pinkman. The expression on her face was one of complete panic. She barely gave Douglas Pinkman more than a glance. Her knees hit the floor. She was sideways to the camera, her face clearly visible. She clutched Lucy Alexander’s hand. She spoke to the girl. She rocked back and forth as she tried to soothe both of them.

  Sam had seen Charlie rock this way only once before.

  “That’s Mason,” Lenore said. She blew her nose loudly.

  Mason Huckabee had his back to the camera. He was clearly talking to Kelly, trying to coax away the gun. The girl was still seated, but she had slid farther down the hallway. Sam could no longer see her face. The only visible parts of Kelly’s body were her right leg and the hand that held the revolver.

  The butt of the weapon rested on the floor.

  Mason went down to his knees. He leaned forward. His arm went out
, palm open. He inched toward Kelly. Slowly, slowly. Sam could only imagine what he was saying. Give me the gun. Just hand it to me. You don’t have to do this.

  Mason knew Kelly Wilson, had been her teacher, her tutor. He would know that she could be talked down.

  On screen, he kept moving closer, and closer until, without warning, Kelly raised the gun out of the frame.

  Sam’s stomach lurched.

  Mason backed up quickly, putting distance between himself and Kelly.

  “She turned the gun on herself,” Lenore said. “That’s why his hands are down instead of up.”

  Sam’s gaze found Charlie again. She was beside Lucy, opposite Mrs. Pinkman. The older woman was looking up at the ceiling, eyes closed, clearly praying. Charlie sat cross-legged on the floor. Her hands were in her lap. She was rubbing together her fingers, staring at the blood as if she had never seen anything like it before.

  Or perhaps she was thinking that she had seen something exactly like it before.

  Charlie’s head slowly turned. She looked off camera. A shotgun slid across the floor, stopping a few feet away. Charlie did not move. Another second passed. The shotgun was scooped up by a policeman. He ran down the hall. His bulletproof vest flapped at his waist. He dropped to one knee and jammed the butt of the shotgun into his shoulder.

  The weapon was pointed at Mason Huckabee, not Kelly Wilson.

  Mason was on his knees, his back to Kelly, blocking the man’s shot.

  All of this seemed lost on Charlie. She was looking back down at her hands, seemingly mesmerized by the blood. Her rocking had become less pronounced, more of a vibration moving through the body.

  Lenore whispered, “My poor baby.”

  Sam had to look away from Charlie. She found Mason still on his knees. Now, his back was to Kelly Wilson. The shotgun was pointed at his chest.

  The shotgun was pointed at his chest.

  Sam’s eyes skipped back to Charlie. She had not moved. She was still rocking. She looked to be in some type of fugue state. She did not seem to notice when a second police officer ran past her.

  Sam followed the cop’s quick progress down the hall. As with the other officer, his back was to the camera, but Sam could see the gun in his hand. He came to a stop a few feet away from the other cop with a shotgun.