Helpless

Chapter 7

The receptionist jumped a little as Tom Hawkins neared her desk. “Attorney Pressman is waiting for you in his office,” she said, pointing to Marvin’s closed office door.

He took off his Red Sox baseball hat, damp from an August rain, and thanked her. The woman, not yet thirty, did not reply.

I’m the ex-husband of a woman who was murdered three days ago, Tom told himself. People aren’t going to know how to act around me.

Jill shuffled along behind her father. He hadn’t let her out of his sight since the incident in the woods. She had spent the night with him at his house in Westbrook. What she didn’t know, but soon would find out, was that she’d be spending every night there.

Tom paused at the door to Marvin’s office. “I haven’t seen Marvin since high school,” he said. “We’re going to need a few minutes to play catch-up. Then we’ll get down to business.”

Jill had her head bowed and her mouth in a frown. “Whatever,” was all she said.

“Everything is going to be all right, Jill,” Tom said. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” Tom gave Jill a hug, but his daughter turned her head sideways, leaving her arms hanging limply by her side.

Persistence and patience, Tom reminded himself. Persistence and patience. The two Ps formed the foundation of Tom’s well-proven coaching philosophy. Showing frustration with a struggling player was the surest way for that player to lose interest in the game. Tom had made huge strides in repairing their damaged relationship. But he understood that he still had a long way to go. If his daughter sensed his own frustration with her, she could easily lose interest in him.

Tom knocked on the door to Marvin’s office, heard a muffled “Come in,” and went inside.

Marvin was standing behind an expansive desk, reading a document he held in both hands. Back in high school, Marvin had been a good-natured kid with a tangle of unkempt, curly hair. Tom remembered him struggling through several failed bids to make the soccer team. But his former classmate had gone from skinny to heavyset, and his thinning hair looked to be losing the battle.

Sifting through Kelly’s papers, Tom had discovered that she had recently hired Marvin to help her negotiate a settlement for her mounting credit card debt. Tom had called Marvin and confirmed for himself that he was the right man for the job.

“Tom Hawkins,” Marvin said, coming out from behind his desk and walking toward him with lumbering steps. His voice was a deep, pleasing baritone, befitting his large frame. He shook Tom’s outstretched hand with vigor. “It’s great to see you. Though I’m terribly sorry about the circumstances.”

Marvin quickly turned his attention to Jill. “Hi there,” he said, shaking Tom’s daughter’s hand as though she were his peer. “I want you to know how truly sorry I am for your loss. I knew your mother well. This is all just a terrible, terrible tragedy. You have my deepest sympathy.”

“Thanks,” Jill said in a quiet voice.

“Honey, if you want to take a seat on the couch over there,” Tom said, pointing. “Marvin and I have some catching up to do.”

Jill slipped buds into each ear and sat on the couch without verbally acknowledging Tom’s request. Even from across the room, Tom could hear snippets from whatever music was permanently damaging her hearing. Jill took out her cell phone, and Tom could tell that she was texting.

“How’s she holding up?” Marvin asked, motioning with his head toward Jill, who seemed oblivious.

“She’s doing okay. As well as can be expected.”

“The funeral is next Wednesday, right?”

“That’s right,” Tom confirmed.

“Any break in the case?”

“No, nothing new,” Tom said.

“Any theories?”

“Only that she walked in on a robbery in progress, but that’s still speculation. All we know is that somebody was definitely in the house with her. There’s evidence of a struggle and assault. The police think at some point she broke away and ran out the back door, slipped and fell down the ravine, hit her head on a rock, and died instantly. But they don’t know who broke into the house.”

“Any suspects?” asked Marvin.

Tom pointed to the red welt on the side of his head where he’d been hit with the binoculars. “I caught, or almost caught, somebody out back of Jill’s house, surveying the property with binoculars.”

“You think it’s him?”

“Maybe. I told Brendan Murphy about it. Gave him a name, because I thought I recognized the guy. He said he’s looking into it. That’s all I’ve heard.”

“Sounds like progress.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Tom said in a low voice. “I think Murphy is still convinced that I had something to do with what happened to Kelly.”

“What makes you say that?”

Tom glanced over at Jill, still seated on the leather couch, relieved her attention was fully engaged in electronics. “I went to the police station voluntarily, and he did everything but name me as an official suspect. Apparently, he visited Westbrook and interviewed some of my neighbors to see if any of them witnessed me leaving my house when I said I did.”

“Did any of them see you?”

“No idea,” Tom said. “But Murphy paid a visit to my next-door neighbor. She felt bad telling me that she didn’t see me leave.”

Marvin scoffed. “Murphy’s always had a pole up his ass about you,” he said. “But… now, I’m just being curious, mind you…. Do you have an alibi?”

“Well, I was at the Home Depot near where I live, buying a box of nails when it happened, only I didn’t save the receipt and I paid in cash.”

“That’s a drag,” Marvin said.

“Figures my car was parked where the mall security cameras couldn’t see it, and I was wearing a hat, so it was impossible to make a positive ID from the surveillance inside the store.”

“Did you save the box?”

“Why would I do that?”

“The box should have a SKU number on it,” Marvin said. “That SKU number can be matched up with Home Depot’s store records and can confirm you were shopping when you said you were.”

“I may still have it. I’ll look.”

“You know, I do handle criminal defense cases, not just estate planning and family law.”

“Well, let’s plan on my not needing those particular services of yours.”

Marvin studied Tom and seemed to take notice of his physical conditioning. “Thinking I might waive my usual fee in exchange for some personal training,” Marvin said, patting his ample midsection. Marvin’s rumpled suit suggested that he might have slept in it, an assessment confirmed by the attorney’s bleary eyes.

“Coaching high school soccer has made me fret off the pounds,” said Tom.

“State champs three years in a row now. Pretty impressive.”

“Thanks. The girls put in a huge effort.”

“Well, Jill’s been a rising star for the Wildcats, from what I’ve read in the Journal. Guess I know where she got the talent from.” Marvin pointed to a photograph on his office wall, which was covered with dozens of framed pictures of great moments in sports history. The specific photograph was one Tom remembered well: Marvin himself had taken the picture of a young Tom Hawkins making a bicycle kick shot against onetime New Hampshire powerhouse Wiltshire.

“That’s a great shot, Marvin.”

“Yours or mine?” Marvin said with a slight laugh.

“We lost that game, if I remember,” Tom said, thinking of the hours he’d spent in the coach’s room, watching game tape and going over every mistake he’d made on the pitch.

“We did, but as I recall, both teams were pretty evenly matched,” Marvin said. “Did you know that if two teams are equally matched, seventy-two percent of the time it’s randomness that makes one of them lose, not real skill difference? So that loss wasn’t your fault. It was just a random outcome.”

Tom shrugged. “Doesn’t make me feel any better. Though I admit, that’s one soccer stat I’ve never heard before,” he said.

Marvin gestured to other sports pictures that adorned his office walls. “Well, I was never a great athlete,” he said, “but I am a freak for sports stats. I can tell you the stat that goes with every picture on my wall.”

“You weren’t that bad an athlete, Marvin,” Tom said.

“That’s kind of you to say, but completely untrue,” Marvin corrected him. “I got cut every year I tried out for the soccer team.”

“But at least you tried.”

“And you were one of maybe three other guys who didn’t laugh at me whenever I did. Besides, there are approximately seventeen thousand professional athletes in the United States. That gave me a point zero zero five percent chance of becoming one myself. The law seemed a far more surefire way to financial security.”

“By the looks of it, you’re doing well,” Tom said.

By all appearances, it was true. The cozy office inside the well-kept Victorian home was smartly furnished with several dark bookcases stocked with legal tomes. A richly colored Oriental rug lay over a pale wide-plank hardwood floor. The meeting area within Marvin’s high-ceilinged office had an unmarked whiteboard, similar to the type Tom used to map out soccer plays; a large black-lacquered conference table; and a set of six plush leather chairs.

“Business keeps growing,” Marvin said. “I might not be scoring goals, but I am helping people, and that feels good. So, you ready to get started?”

Tom tapped Jill on the shoulder. She pulled the buds from her ears and followed Tom over to the meeting area. Tom sat first, and Jill sat on his side of the table, but two seats away. Marvin sat across from them.

Marvin began by addressing Jill. “So, Jill, we’re here today to talk about your future.”

“Okay,” she said.

“I spoke with your dad, and he told me to be very candid during this session,” he said. “As the attorney for your mother’s estate, I’m most familiar with her affairs. I’m afraid the news about your mother’s finances isn’t good.”

“What’s ‘not good’ mean?” Jill asked Marvin, her sweet voice edged with concern.

“Your mother had no savings. No life insurance. Really, no provisions at all for your care. On top of that, your house has two mortgages, which she was already behind on, and the bank is threatening to take it to foreclosure.”

“What does that mean?” Jill asked.

“It means we need to talk about where you’re going to live,” Tom said.

“I’ll live with Lindsey,” Jill said, refusing even to glance at her father. “They already offered.”

“Jill, I’m not going to allow that. Not with what happened last night.”

“But it’s my life!”

Tom cleared his throat. “I believe I have custody now.”

Marvin nodded. “That’s correct,” he said. “Until Jill is an adult, you become the custodial parent.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying to come and live with me in Westbrook.”

“What? No! My life is here in Shilo. I don’t want to just leave it behind. Especially now. I need my friends more than ever.”

“Jill, you were there. You saw what happened. It’s not safe, and I’m not going to take any chances.”

“I can take care of myself,” Jill snapped. “You think Mom was looking out for me? She could barely look out for herself.”

“Look, I’m not going to trust your friends to keep you safe.”

Marvin cleared his throat, his way of clearing the air. He said, “Well, you’re within your parental rights to have Jill come live with you, Tom. Westbrook is a nice town, Jill. Great schools, from what I hear.”

“Don’t do this to me,” Jill pleaded. “If you love me, like you say you do, then just let me live with Lindsey. Let me stay here. Please.”

Tom thought. Then he asked, “Marvin, what if I moved to Shilo? Took over Kelly’s mortgage?”

“Remember, the bank is coming after the house,” Marvin warned. “But all the bank is interested in is money. If we can get the mortgage caught up and show proof that you can continue making payments, I’m sure they would be satisfied.”

“I’ve got my job with the Shilo public schools, and I can sell my place in Westbrook,” Tom said. “Whatever it takes to make this work, I’ll do it.” He felt absolutely confident about a plan he’d spent all of ten seconds concocting.

“You would do that?” Jill stammered. “You’d move here so I could stay?”

Tom nodded. “I’m your father, Jill,” he said. “I’m going to do what’s best for you.”

Jill’s downcast face brightened. Tom smiled too.

The next hour passed in a blur. Papers needed to be signed. Forms to be filled out. Each completed check-box item made Tom feel one step closer to his goal: to be thought of as Jill’s father again.

But he had other concerns that needed resolution.

Who was the man in the woods?

Where was Kip Lange?

Could Tom realistically keep them both safe?

When they were finished for the afternoon, Tom escorted Jill back into the waiting room. “Hang here a second, kiddo,” he said. “There’s something I forgot to ask Marvin.”

Jill’s iPod earbuds went back into place before Tom reopened Marvin’s office door.

“Forget something?” Marvin asked.

“Marvin, do you do any investigative work?” Tom asked, keeping the door slightly ajar so that he could keep an eye on Jill. “You seem pretty good at digging up esoteric sports stats. I’m guessing you’re good at finding out a lot of things.”

Marvin’s eyes narrowed on Tom. “Is this about Kelly’s killer? Because I don’t do PI work.”

“If the guy I fought in the woods is who I think it was, then his name is Kip Lange.”

“Go on.”

“Almost sixteen years ago Lange was stationed at the same military base in Germany as Kelly and I. He was arrested for the attempted murder of a U.S. Army officer. He’s supposed to still be in prison.”

“Yeah? What do you need to know?”

“I don’t trust Murphy to investigate this properly. He’s too focused on me. So if Lange’s not still locked up, I need to know where he is.”

“Do you think Lange had something to do with what happened to Kelly?”

“It’s possible,” Tom said. “But unlikely. Like I said, he should still be in prison.”

“Tom, I’ll do what I can to help you find him, but you have to level with me. What’s the real story here? I don’t like to operate in the dark. You’ve got to give me something.”

“We have attorney-client privilege working here?”

Marvin nodded. “We do.”

“Then I can tell you that it has something to do with a gun and millions of dollars’ worth of smuggled heroin.”