Cruel Justice

48

CARLEE CRANE SAT UPRIGHT in bed eating Blue Bell Rocky Road ice cream. She was making a mess of it, getting it on her hands and the sheets. She didn’t care. She wanted ice cream. She needed ice cream. That’s what she kept telling herself, anyway.

As she ate, her husband Dave entered their bedroom. She watched him undress for his shower. The camping trip had done him good; he’d picked up some sun, and he looked as if he’d dropped a few pounds. Not that he needed to.

She watched silently as he dried himself off, then put on the blue pajamas he almost never wore and crawled into bed beside her.

They had not spoken all evening.

There had been no fight, nor any need for one. Ever since the camping trip, something had been … different. Their relationship was strained in a way it never had been before.

It wasn’t that Dave resented what had happened to her, or what she was going through. He didn’t know what to do; he didn’t know how to respond. He was lost. She was certain he still wanted to be a good husband. He just didn’t know how.

And so he remained silent. Once or twice she had tried to raise the issue, had tried to get him to talk, but each time he ignored her, or glared at her with that “not in front of the kids” expression of his. Now that the boys were in bed, it seemed too late, too far gone.

Too much damage done.

Well, hell. She wasn’t giving up that easily. She put away her ice cream. He was facing away from her, curled up in a ball, safely tucked away in his blue pajamas.

“Dave?”

He made a muffled mmmm noise.

“That trial began today.”

Silence. No mmmm, no nothing.

“The trial of that black man. Leeman Hayes. The one who’s accused of killing that foreign woman ten years ago.”

“I know,” he said, without turning around.

“A man who works for the defense attorney came to the house and asked me if I knew anything about the murder. He said they needed witnesses for the trial in the worst way. And now the trial has started and according to the news they still don’t have any witnesses.”

“You shouldn’t watch the TV news,” Dave said evenly. His voice seemed distant and muffled. “It just upsets you.”

“Dave, I’m almost certain that poor man didn’t kill that woman.” She paused. “Forget the almost. I know he didn’t do it.”

“Then who did?”

“I don’t know. But I know the killer was taller, and older. And he wasn’t black.”

“And you acquired this sensational knowledge from a vision you had while we were camping in the mystical Arbuckle Mountains?”

“It wasn’t a vision, Dave.” She leaned over his shoulder. “It was a memory.”

“A memory that you totally forgot about until now.”

“I realize that must seem strange to you. It seems strange to me, too. I can’t explain it. But that’s what happened. I saw what I saw.”

“How could you have seen the murder?”

“You know I used to work at that country club. I must’ve been working late one night … yes, I’m sure that’s it. I was working late. I was working overtime, cleaning the kitchen after it closed down at eleven. My creepo boss kept saying he’d promote me to waitress if I put in enough overtime. I was so poor back then, I would’ve done almost anything for a little extra cash. I walked home from work, because I didn’t have a car. I was crossing the grounds on my way home that night, and I heard this scream and I ran to the window and … and … that’s when I saw it.”

“What did you do afterward?”

“I—I just don’t know.” She shook her head violently, as if trying to dislodge the memory trapped up there somewhere. “That’s still a total blank. I remember thinking I had to tell someone, I had to report this …”

“But you didn’t. Right?”

“I’m … not sure.”

“Did you talk to the police?”

Carlee’s head tilted slightly. “I … don’t think so.”

“Great.” Dave pounded his fist into the pillow. “What’s the first thing you do recall?”

She shook her head. “I recall being at home afterward. I guess I went on as if nothing had ever happened. I—I didn’t remember it.”

“Carlee … that’s ridiculous.”

“It is not.”

“It is. Think about what you’re saying. ‘I saw a murder but it slipped my mind.’ That’s absurd.”

“Dave …” Her eyes turned away. “I think I should contact that attorney. I think I should offer to testify.”

“No.”

Carlee leaned away, literally taken aback. Dave was a peacemaker, a compromiser. She didn’t recall a flat-out no from him in their entire married lives. Until now.

“Dave, I think I have an obligation.”

“To do what?” He rolled over and grabbed her wrist. “To make a fool of yourself? To turn this family into a laughingstock?”

“Dave—”

“And what about the children? Have you thought about them?”

“I don’t see how this affects—”

“Children talk, Carlee. If you testify, especially if you testify that you saw a murder but then forgot, you’re going to be all over the papers. All over the TV. And everyone’s going to be laughing at you. The kids at school will pick it up. You know how cruel children can be. ‘My mother says your mother is nuts.’ ‘My daddy says they should lock your mama up and throw away the key.’ ‘Where’s your dad, Gavin? Maybe your mom killed him and forgot about it.’ ”

“Dave, our boys are strong and smart. They can handle a little—”

“And what about me, Carlee?”

“I—don’t—”

“What about me? Will you think about that for just one minute? What’s this going to look like at the office? Is Hannigan going to continue to let me work with his star clients after you’ve been ridiculed on the evening news?”

Carlee didn’t know what to say. This was a reaction she hadn’t anticipated, would never have dreamed possible. …

“Dave,” she said finally, “I can’t just button my lip and let them give that man the death penalty if I can help him.”

“I agree. But believe me, your testimony isn’t going to help him. In fact, it might hurt. They’ll think his lawyer put you up to it. They’ll think he’s so desperate he’ll try anything.”

Carlee held her tongue. That was a possibility she hadn’t considered.

“Believe me, you’ll do more good for that man if you just stay quiet. And I know it will be better for your family.” He reached out and turned out the lamp.

Their bedroom went dark. Carlee sat up for a long time, long after they were both quiet, long after she heard the soft, steady snoring of her husband.

All she wanted to do was what was right. But what was right? It was so hard to know anymore. What was right? What was real? What was true?

What should she do?

Eventually she laid her head upon her pillow and prayed for sleep. She prayed that dreams would come and take her away from all this confusion, all this uncertainty, all this indecision brought on by the curse of memory.

But that night her prayers were not answered.