A Kiss Gone Bad

32

At twenty till one Friday afternoon the Blade debated whether or not he should take a seat for the inquest. The hearing would start shortly, but he did not wish to be conspicuous by his presence. It was pleasant to sit in the cramped confines of the VW Beetle and watch the few television reporters strutting on the county courthouse lawn. All three of them, from the local Corpus affiliates, primped their doughnut-glaze hair. Again the sudden urge to simply get out of the car, walk over to them, and say. Do I have a story for you – but you must call me the Blade, washed over him, and he pumped up his Beach Boys tape, listening to them implore Rhonda for help, and the desire ebbed. To the Boys, Rhonda was a patron saint of love; perhaps he could find a Darling with the same name one day. Encina County was a Rhonda-rich environment. And perhaps one day he would walk up to a reporter and let his infamy begin. But not today.

If that scum-bucket judge did his job and ruled for suicide, then Velvet would have no reason to stay. Her time in Port Leo would end, and her sojourn with him could begin. He would treasure each second with her, each second an eternity to play again in his mind for the rest of his life. His mouth dried with want. Then it would end, as always, and he would be sad for a while, until the next craving rose like a lick of fire.

So don’t do this. Don’t do this anymore.

The voice in his ear was not Mama’s, but a boy’s voice perhaps like his own from long ago. I’m sorry for what I do but it has to be done. I need it to be done.

He pulled his bowie knife out of its sheath and slid it beneath the driver’s seat. He had cleaned and sharpened it again after its last use.

The Blade saw Velvet hop out of her rental car and hurry inside the courthouse. She was modestly dressed, in black jeans, a thin, dark sweater, a baseball cap, and the reporters took little notice of her, which pleased him. He switched the Boys off. He could wait for her here. He smiled. Soon his Darling would breathe his same air, know his wanting, share the beginning of a brief forever.

Whit’s clerk was a chain-smoking widow named Edith Gregory. She was on the outer edge of her fifties, with a thin, sparrow’s body, dieted by years of smoking. She stood in Whit’s office as he pulled his judicial robe over an unusually somber blue button-down and khaki combo and eyed him critically.

‘Them pants need pressing,’ she said. ‘You think that little Russian gal could learn an iron.’ Edith was friends with Georgie. ‘Those Communists probably all wore grocery bags.’

‘I’m responsible for my own laundry, Edith.’

Edith worked her empty fingers as if she had a cigarette. ‘We need to get responsible for keeping you in office. I got to work for Buddy Beere, they gonna have to give me a raise.’

Whit straightened his robe and gathered the papers of the inquest record. ‘Okay, let’s go.’

Edith stopped him and he glanced at her. An unexpected softness touched her blue eyes, and he thought: If my mom was alive and here she’d be about your age.

‘You just got this hangdog look on your face that’s got me worried,’ Edith said. ‘Just remember, you’re a judge. Act like one. Make me proud.’

Six months and she doesn’t give me a pep talk until now. ‘Thanks.’

They walked out of his office and down the hall. He followed her into the small courtroom. Lloyd, the constable, bellowed, ‘All rise!’ and the packed courtroom stood in near unison. The Hubble contingent occupied the front row: Faith, Lucinda, a tired-looking Sam, the rest of the Democratic power base for Encina County; to their left, Claudia Salazar, watching him as though he were a leper trying to blow kisses, and Delford Spires and Eddie Gardner, a couple of patrol officers; his father and Irina. In the back sat a large bevy of the curious, Velvet squeezed among them, replete in cap and dark glasses. In the back corner, to his surprise, Junior Deloache lounged, wearing a Houston Astros baseball cap and a Houston Rockets T-shirt. Deloache stared at him, and he wondered if he ruled for homicide if Junior would just go outside, flip open a cell phone, and call in the death orders.

‘The Honorable Whitman Mosley presiding!’ Lloyd blared. Whit sat and the crowd settled into their seats, wood creaking as butts eased down. He opened his inquest file, carefully prepared by his clerk. He glanced at the court reporter, borrowed from the county court. He wanted a written transcript of the proceedings to file in the inquest report.

Take step one and don’t get killed.

‘Good morning, everyone. This is a tragic event, this loss of life, and it has received a lot of local publicity. But this is a courtroom, and outbursts will not be tolerated. Anyone who creates a disturbance will be held in contempt and removed from the courtroom by the constable. Is that understood?’

Silence from the gathered. Lucinda Hubble looked pained. Velvet looked tense. Junior Deloache pushed his Astros cap back farther on his head and scratched his forehead with a beefy finger.

‘Let me explain, quickly, the point of a death inquest hearing. It is to determine whether or not anyone is responsible for the death of another,’ Whit said. ‘I will question the witnesses. There is no jury in this case, and no one stands presently accused of a crime.’ He glanced at Lloyd. ‘Constable Brundrett, please call the first witness.’

Lloyd said, ‘I was unable to serve process on Heather Farrell, Your Honor. I have not been able to locate her. I believe she may have left the jurisdiction. She’s a known transient, and she lied to the police regarding her whereabouts.’

‘Did you find any trace of her, Constable?’ He already knew the answer but wanted it in the record.

‘Yes, sir. We found she had bought two tickets on Greyhound. Her reservation on the bus was for three days from now.’

‘But she’s already gone?’

‘Apparently, Your Honor.’

‘Thank you, Constable. Next witness?’

‘Calling Detective Edward Gardner of the Port Leo Police Department.’

Gardner came to the stand. Whit swore him in. Gardner gave a precise, rapid account of last Monday night’s events.

‘Did you find a suicide note?’ Whit asked.

‘No, Y’Honor. The deceased’s son brought one to our attention later.’

‘Who covered the deceased’s hands with protective bagging?’

Gardner stared at him. ‘I did, Y’Honor.’

‘I was told by the Nueces County medical examiner’s office the hands were improperly bagged.’

Gardner turned his gaze out to the crowd. ‘Yes, sir. I checked the chain of custody. At some point before delivery to the morgue the bag covering the right hand was damaged.’

‘The end result being the medical examiner’s office had difficulty getting an accurate gunpowder-residue reading on Mr Hubble’s hands. I suggest, Detective, before you investigate another crime scene that you refresh yourself on appropriate forensic procedures.’ Whit knew he sounded like a textbook, but he watched as the borrowed court reporter recorded every word.

Gardner’s face soured with anger. ‘Yes, sir,’ was all he said, but he did not look at Whit; he stared out into the crowd, as though at attention. Whit dismissed him from the stand. Claudia looked ready to jump out of her seat, notes in hand, but Whit didn’t call her as a witness.

Next Dr Elizabeth Contreras, deputy medical examiner for Nueces County, gave the same summation of autopsy findings she’d given to Whit, stressing that she could not make a definitive call as to whether the gunshot wound was self-inflicted. Whit asked her only a few questions and Liz kept her testimony concise.

‘Was there any other indication of violence to Mr Hubble?’ he asked. ‘Had he been drugged or assaulted in another way?’

‘He was intoxicated, and we’re awaiting toxicology results, but no, there were no other signs of violence on him.’

Whit thanked Liz and she stepped down.

‘I’m introducing into the inquest record,’ Whit said, ‘a suicide note found at the scene by the deceased’s minor son.’ Whit held up the note, properly bagged. The audience was silent; tears coursed down Lucinda’s cheeks. ‘In fact, I would like to read the note into the transcript of this hearing.’

Whit read the note aloud in a slow voice, the final pain of Pete Hubble and his confession for the death of his brother Corey. Lucinda sobbed, noisily, and Faith hugged her. Sam trembled, his eyes locked on Whit. Velvet made some protesting noise; the other attendees shushed her. She glared at Whit as he finished.

Whit let the silence hang before he picked up his gavel. ‘This court rules that the deceased, Peter James Hubble, committed suicide by self-inflicted gunshot wound on last October 12. I am going to certify a copy of the inquest summary report for delivery to the district court. This court is adjourned.’ Whit rapped his gavel. It was over quick, and he saw the disappointment in faces that the hearing had been peculiar and short.

Velvet didn’t disappoint. ‘Are you freaking kidding me? What is this crap? Do I even get a chance to talk?’

‘Court is adjourned, ma’am,’ Lloyd warned in an even tone. ‘You got a complaint, take it outside.’

Velvet yelled, ‘If I can’t get justice here, I goddamn well will get it somewhere else. Fuck you, Mosley!’

Whit ignored her, gathering his papers. A low chorus of boos erupted around Velvet, and she pulled away from one older woman who tried to console her. She stormed out of the courtroom.

Whit whispered to Lloyd, ‘Follow that woman, please. I want to know what she does.’

Lloyd navigated through the throng leaving the courtroom. Claudia pushed past and caught Whit’s arm.

‘I’d like a word with you, Your Honor. In private,’ she said. Her voice was low, but her tone was white with rage.

‘About what?’

‘About why you didn’t call me to testify in this hearing.’

Whit shrugged. ‘I really didn’t see the need.’ He stepped down from the bench.

Claudia stared at him, incredulous. ‘The need? Jesus, Whit! You ignored Pete’s connection to Jabez, his dealings with Deloache, the bad blood with the Hubbles, the custody battle that was brewing. Christ, what didn’t you ignore?’

He walked out of the courtroom by the back entrance, and she followed him down the hallway. The departing crowd buzzed like angry bees. Whit imagined Senator Hubble holding tearful court before the television reporters.

Claudia shut the door behind them.

‘I really don’t want to tell you what I think of you right now,’ she said.

‘You can. I don’t break easy.’

‘You had acres of room for doubt, Whit. The fact he consorted with known criminals. The fact that everything about this movie project seems to have vanished. The fact he was taking on his mother and wife for custody of his son. The fact that he had a young woman actively digging dirt on Jabez Jones and finding it.’

‘The fact that evidence was improperly handled by your department. Maybe you should just trust me on this, Claudia.’

‘Trust you? Trust you when you won’t tell me why you’ve suddenly dropped a hundred IQ points? Christ, Whit, you have a responsibility! Or is your responsibility to make Faith Hubble happy?’

‘Now the police don’t have to continue the investigation.’ He didn’t look at her, doffing his robe and sliding it onto a hanger.

‘I guess not. Delford’ll have hard nipples over this.’

‘Thanks for the image,’ he said. ‘You know, if additional information came forward at a later date, I could reopen the inquest.’

‘I suppose so. But will big Faithie let you?’

‘That’s enough,’ he snapped in a hard voice. ‘You might consider keeping your venom to yourself until you know the whole story.’

She ground her teeth together. ‘Fine, Your Honor.’ She made the title slightly mocking in tone. ‘So tell me.’

‘I certainly left enough room in the inquest record for more information to be brought forward,’ Whit said slowly. ‘I didn’t call Sam Hubble as a witness, didn’t have Heather Farrell testify to what she found, didn’t mention the connections between Jabez and Pete, between Deloache and Pete, and I emphasized the sloppy job that Gardner did. Like you said, acres of doubt.’

Claudia stared at him. ‘What the hell are you cooking up, Honorable?’

‘I’m going to leave town for a few days.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s the smart thing for me to do.’

She was silent for several seconds. ‘Jesus Christ, Whit. Have you been threatened?’

She surprised him. He liked Claudia, but she had struck him as the plodding sort of investigator who was dogged and determined but not particularly given to flights of imagination. She seemed more given to flights of impatience, irritability, and stubbornness.

He kept his face very still. ‘Of course not.’

Delford Spires opened Whit’s door, knocking at the same time, and bestowed a thin smile – the kind used at funerals when you see someone you haven’t visited with in a while and you’re glad to see them but sick over the reason.

‘Whit. Claudia.’ Delford nodded. ‘You kept justice swift, Whit. I know this has been hard on everyone.’

‘Another cleared case,’ Claudia said.

Delford shook his head. ‘You’re taking this the wrong way, Claudia. I’ve known Lucinda a real long time and I knew Pete. Just like him to come home and mess this up for his mama. She gave her kids the world and look what it got her.’ He brushed his mustache with a nervous flicker of his fingers. ‘Now I want you to focus on helping poor Mrs Ballew in finding her girl.’

‘How about finding Heather Farrell?’ Whit said.

Delford shrugged. ‘She’s a runaway.’

‘Who bought two tickets on the bus, didn’t use them, and now has vanished,’ Whit reminded him. ‘I wonder who that other ticket was for.’

Heather being gone was unexpected to him. She might have seen something and been silenced by the same people who had threatened him. A sharp, hot shame crawled through his body. Yeah, Heather might be sitting under a railroad crossing right now, picnicking on fried fish, or she might be facedown in the bluestems, two bullets in her head.

If so, he decided, they would not get away with it. Fuck the election. ‘I would certainly feel better if y’all would find Heather.’

‘Fine,’ Delford said. ‘We’ll put a notice out on the wires for the nearby counties. Claudia, would you excuse the judge and me for a moment?’

Claudia stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind her with a final stabbing glance at Whit.

‘You think you’re big shit,’ Delford said. ‘Let me give you every assurance you’re not.’

‘Get out of my office.’

‘I don’t like you dressing down Gardner in open court. You talk to me and only me about problems with my officers. You made our whole department look bad.’

Whit opened his mouth, full of sharp responses. He remembered the bullet whizzing past his ear, Irina, Babe, his brothers, their wives, his beautiful nieces, his wriggly nephews. Not yet, he thought, not yet but oh, if you threatened my family I’m so going to fry you. He said: ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

Delford put his Stetson back on his head, as carefully as hanging a picture. ‘See that you do. At least while you get to wear that robe.’ He smiled and left, shutting the door behind him.

Whit sat down at his desk and waited. Lloyd returned in a minute, face flushed from exertion.

‘What happened? Did she leave?’ Whit asked.

‘Yeah. With that guy in the Astros cap.’

Junior. Velvet had left with Junior, of all people. If I can’t get justice here, I goddamn well will get it somewhere else. He wondered what sort of justice Junior might offer.

‘Did it look like he forced her to leave with him?’

‘No. They talked outside for a few minutes. She was all in a tizzy and he calmed her down. Then they walked to his Porsche, talked some more, and she followed him in her car.’

‘Thank you, Lloyd.’ Lloyd left, and Whit stopped at Edith’s desk.

‘I’m taking some time off, Edith. Please clear my docket and reschedule my hearings. If Judge Ramirez can take them, that’s fine with me. If not reschedule for late next week.’

Edith frowned at him. ‘Well, that’s damn short notice.’

‘Sorry. I have to go.’

‘Shouldn’t you be campaigning?’

Whit shrugged. ‘In an odd way, I am.’

He gave her the inquest papers, had her make a copy for him, and then had the originals prepared for filing with the district court. He ran a quick errand to the police station, then drove toward Golden Gulf Marina, Velvet’s key to Real Shame in his pocket.