Presumed Guilty (23 page)

“That’s better,” Necklace said. He had Dallas sitting in a metal folding chair in a room behind the bar. She complied without resistance. He was going to get his way, and there was little she could do about it.

The bartender came in holding her purse and wallet. “Her driver’s license says her name is Dallas Hamilton. How come that sounds familiar?”

Necklace shot him a glare. “Stupid, don’t you watch television?” The bartender looked hurt. “She on TV?”
“This is the babe whose husband offed Melinda.”
A small light went off in the bartender’s head. “Oh, right, right.

Now what’s she doing here with Gilda?”
“That’s my question,” Necklace said. He looked at Dallas. “You
kind of pulled a fast one on my friend Gilda. Nobody would ever
accuse her of being the brightest bulb on the shelf, but one thing
she’s got is instinct. You’re in her line of work, you develop that.
So I kind of agree with Gilda that you could cause a lot of trouble
if you got it in your head to do that. So why don’t you just tell me
what you’re doing here, what your business with Gilda was, and
we’ll figure the best way to consummate our little relationship.” “What you’re doing is illegal,” Dallas said. “You can’t keep me
here.”
“That wasn’t the answer I was looking for.”
“Why don’t you just let me go now, and there won’t be any
backlash.”
Necklace folded his arms across his chest and looked at the bartender. “Did she just threaten us?”
The bartender shrugged.
“Did you just say
backlash
?”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“That’s not good.” Necklace shook his head. He had a prominent
vein that ran from the top of his nose up his forehead, and split into
two directions at his hairline.
She hadn’t noticed it before. Maybe because it was only now
throbbing.
“Now let’s be up front with each other, huh?” He pulled out a
metal chair for himself and sat on it backward, facing her. “You see
what happens here. I provide a nice, safe place for people like Gilda
to come and do a little business. It’s not strictly legal, but I’m sure
you didn’t have to pay us a visit to deduce that.”
Dallas didn’t move.
“Vice knows about us, and a hundred other guys who do the
same, and they let things go. It’s always been that way, right? The
world’s oldest profession? But when somebody from the community gets upset about it, starts reporting things, then the cops, well,
they think they gotta turn up the heat for a while. And that just
gets to be a hassle.”
Necklace ran his hand though his hair.
“So what I gotta decide here is if you’re gonna go out and start
making a big deal. Because that would just be bad for business, and
I got a mother to support.”
“Not to mention a girlfriend,” the bartender said.
“Shut up.” Another sharp look at the bartender.
“I’m not going to make any trouble,” Dallas said, “if that’s what
you’re worried about.”
“I gotta have some sort of guarantee.”
“What could I possibly do?”
“Just give me your word.”
Now that was a strange thing to ask for. Why would a guy like
this think anyone’s word meant anything when it came down to
protecting his business?
“All right,” Dallas said. “You have my word.”
“On what?”
“That I won’t talk about you to anybody.”
Necklace heaved a labored breath. “Now give me your undivided attention here, ’cause I have a guarantee for you. This is what
it is: If I ever find out that you talked about me to anybody, I will
not be the gracious host who sits before you now, huh?” She believed him. The guy may have been a Tony Soprano
wannabe, but he sure did a good job of convincing her he was
qualified.
“Then you have no worries,” Dallas said. “May I go now?” Necklace held her gaze for another moment, then looked at the
bartender. “Hey, what are you doing with the lady’s purse? Give it
back and escort her out.”

When she finally got to sleep at Cara’s, Dallas fell into a dark dream. She saw Jared standing on a lake. Standing, as if he could walk on water. She was on the shore without a light, yet she could see him out there, alone.

She tried to scream at him to come in, but in the dream she couldn’t make a sound. Her mouth opened, her throat clenched, but there was only horrifying silence.

She wanted to swim out to him. Her feet were stuck in muddy sand.
Jared did not resist his own drowning.
He called, “It’s better, Mom . . .”
His head was about to disappear.
Dallas could not move. In her dream she prayed for God to save him.
Now.
A boat appeared, churning toward Jared, sounding a strange little alarm, tinny and weak. What sort of alarm was it? It —
Dallas awakened to her cell phone chiming. What time was it? Her blurred vision caught the digital clock: 8:32 a.m.
The phone persisted. She glanced at the LCD. Jeff.
“Did I wake you?” he said.
“Yes, but I’m glad.”
“Glad?”
“Dreaming. What is it?” She pulled herself to a sitting position. Her head buzzed with a shot of mental adrenaline.
“Ron wants to see you.”
The thought of seeing Ron again triggered a dull ache in her mind. “Why?”
“I had a long talk with him yesterday. He asked me if he could plead out.”

“You mean plead guilty?”
“It’s actually nolo contendere, no contest. Means he’s not admitting to guilt, but he’s not going to contest the charge. It has the same effect as a guilty plea, but he’ll get a reduced sentence.”
“How long?”
“I discussed it with the DA early on. He’d agree to fifteen years to life. But that means Ron will be eligible for parole. He can, with a good record, get out.”
“But there’s no guarantee.”
Jeff paused. “No. But like I’ve said, there shouldn’t be any opposition to parole.”
“Not even from the district attorney?”
“I don’t think so.”
Dallas thought about it, the awful finality. Prison. For real.
“I spoke to him a long time about this,” Jeff said. “He told me he just wants it all to end, to take away the pain he’s caused everyone. Especially you.”
She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what it would feel like to have all this ended.
“He wants to see you, Dallas. To talk about it. I’ll do whatever you two decide.”
“I know you will, Jeff. Let me just ask you, straight up. Is this the best we can hope for?”
“I’ve looked at every angle,” Jeff said. “I’ve considered all the options. None of them is very good. In my professional opinion, this is the best.”
There is no best
. “All right. I’ll see him.”

She did, the next morning at ten. Ron was skinny, much too skinny, but there was finally some resolution behind his eyes.
“Jeff told you?”
“Yes. Why are you doing this?”
“Roger came to see me again.”
“He said he would.”
“I told him what I’m going to tell you. I am responsible for the death of that girl.”
Dallas’s chest tightened. Did this mean that —
“No, I didn’t do it,” he added. “Maybe you don’t believe me. I guess I can’t blame you if you don’t. But I’m responsible. If I hadn’t let her get involved with me, she wouldn’t be dead.”
“But you can’t — ”
“Jeff says that if I plead I could eventually get parole. Maybe this is due penance for my sins, Dallas. I’m tired of fighting. I want to give up.”
“Is that what Roger told you to do? Give up?”
“To God, yes. He didn’t tell me to plead guilty. Or no contest. That’s my own decision. And that will free you too.”
“Me?”
“You can go ahead with the divorce.”
The cool and calm way he said it indicated long deliberation. He was like a judge passing down a sentence. His words were the gavel.
“Is that what you want?” she asked.
“I can’t ask you to stay tied to me.”
She closed her eyes a moment. “That’s the one thing I always wanted, more than anything. To be tied to you, to be married to you, to go on with you ’til death do us part.” She paused. “I wanted our marriage to be the one thing in my life that would last. Maybe I wanted that too much.”
When she opened her eyes she saw Ron’s were filling with tears. She could not stop her own. How many tears had been spilled through the years in the visitors’ room at the jailhouse? What was the sum total of misery?
“I hurt you, I know,” he said.
“It was the lying, Ron. I think I could have taken anything else. How could you have kept so much from me. The pornography on your computer, the — ”
“I don’t know how that happened, Dallas.”
“How what happened?”
“All those images.” He took a breath. “What I mean is, I don’t remember that many. I was doing research one night, and — I don’t know how to describe it — I was caught up. I was looking and downloading. It was so easy. Scary easy. I lost track of time. I was . . . crazy. When I came to my senses I felt so much guilt. I just couldn’t tell you. But I deleted that whole file of images without looking at them again.”
“Deleted them? Then how — ”
“They have ways of recovering things on your hard drive, I guess, even when you think they’re gone. Dallas, if there was any way I could go back and not have this happen to you . . .”
And he wept again.
After a long moment of silence, Dallas said, “I don’t think you should plead, Ron. No matter what you’ve done, the lies you’ve told, I don’t think you’re a murderer.”
“I’m not admitting I did it. It’s a no contest plea. A deal. People make deals. Why should I be any different than any other con?”
“Something may turn up. Jeff and Harry may find evidence that clears you.”
Ron shook his head. “They’re not miracle workers. Believe me when I say I’m at peace with this, Dallas. You have your freedom. You have the right to divorce me, and I am at peace with that too.”
She gripped the phone hard. “If things were different, if none of this had happened, if we could go back to after Amy Shea and before Melinda Perry, would you have wanted to stay married to me?”
“Of course.”
“No, I don’t mean because of the Bible or your reputation or the church or anything else. I mean would you have wanted to stay married because you loved me?”
He thought a long time, then said, “Maybe it took all this for me to realize how much I did — do — love you. I do. I know that. But it’s too late. I will pay for my sins, but I can’t ask you to do the same. You’re free, Dallas.”
A deputy indicated that time for the visit was up. Ron hung up his phone before Dallas could say another word to him. He turned with a finality, as if judgment was already upon him. Upon them both.

Famous preacher from a large church and his only son, both in the same jail at the same time.
His dad had it easy by comparison. He had a room to himself. Jared was stuffed with five others into a cell originally built for two. It was the 4000 level, and the cell looked directly across at the sheriff’s station, encased in thick glass. Jared thought it looked like a submarine passing by in this ocean of lost hopes.
His other cell mates were white. The jail, he knew, was purposely segregated. Too many gang rivalries to try and make this a color-blind lockup.
If the dark blue Aryan tattoos were any indication, four of his cell mates were white supremacists. All but one of the five were in their twenties. The exception was a guy who looked about forty. His hair was longer and his eyes more experienced. He was the only one who said nothing to Jared when he joined them.
The one with the most attitude, who called himself Pal, appeared to be the bull. Each cell had an unofficial head, usually the one who could do the most physical damage to the others.
“First things first, Fish,” Pal said the moment Jared stepped through the cell door and heard it slam behind him. “I tell you to do something, that’s what you do.”
Pal, who was slightly shorter than Jared, gave him a direct stare with dark brown eyes.
Jared sized him up. He could take him if he had to. The problem was the other guys. They were Pal’s boys. The old guy would probably stay out of things. Jared wouldn’t stand a chance. He just had to take it. For two days.
Just two days.
Pal pointed to the bare aluminum toilet in the center of the back wall, and then to a sheet secured to a corner of one bunk. “Second thing is, you want to use the can, use the sheet.”
Jared said nothing.
“You understanding me?” Pal said.
“I got the picture,” Jared said.
“I don’t think you do. Let me show you.” He took one step toward the toilet and motioned to Jared with his finger.
“Try it,” Pal said.
“Try what?”
“The can.”
“I don’t have to.”
“Just to show you how the sheet works.”
“I don’t have to go.”
“Pretend you do.”
Three of the inmates, all but the old guy, huddled around Pal and Jared. The cell, small as it was, suddenly seemed a lot smaller.
Jared shrugged and moved to the toilet.
“Have a seat,” Pal said.
Without undoing his coveralls, Jared sat on the toilet.
“Now it works like this,” Pal said. He took the sheet that was tied to one bunk and stretched it across to the opposite bunk. The sheet had a hole in the corner. Pal placed it over the bunk post.
Now Jared was looking at a sheet. Pal and his boys squatted on either side of him. Two grabbed Jared’s wrists and twisted his hands. Excruciating pain shot up his arms. He couldn’t move.
“Need to listen,” Pal said. “Only gonna say this once. We got a real problem with the jigs and the wets. If it comes down to it, we gotta know whose side you’re on. We gotta know whose back you got. You tell us, and we’ll get yours.”
Jared ground his teeth against the pain. “I’m not on any side.”
The others did not let up on his hands. “You got to take sides.”
“I’m not here long.”
“Don’t matter.”
“Nobody’s side.” Jared’s eyes were starting to water.
“You want a broken wrist? That’ll get you out of the cell. You want that?”
Pain beat back Jared’s voice and started to darken his vision. He expected to black out.
“I asked you a question,” Pal said.
Jared sensed the darkness deepen and change, become a presence
.
That, more than the punks, brought fear.
“So what’ll it be, Fish?”
The pain was reaching the point of unbearable.
Give it up, tell him you’re in, just tell him and you’ll be safe.
“Stick,” a voice said.
Pal snapped his fingers and the two guys let go of Jared’s hands, stood up, moved to the front side of the sheet.
Jared, his wrists aflame, stood up too.
The old guy was standing with his back to the cell door, looking at them all. Jared knew he was the one who had said
stick.
Later, he would learn that a stick was a deputy who checked cells from the secure enclosure in the middle of the block.
“Don’t want no stick in here,” the old guy said.
Pal looked out the cell doors, then back at Jared. “Think about it,” he said. “We’ll have another talk real soon.”
It was Friday. No action would be taken on bail or anything regarding Jared’s case until Monday. There was no way he would be able to avoid another “talk.”
The presence Jared felt intensified. And he was scared. More scared than he’d ever been in his life, more even than in combat.
He fought to keep from blacking out.
Then the old guy brushed past him and whispered, “Stay off the can.”