In Plain Sight
Rose, By Any Other Name
Chapter 3
"Of course it's affecting his judgment. He wouldn't always take her side if they weren't sleeping together," Mary pointed out.
"Whether or not they're sleeping together has little to do with it," Marshall argued. "When Eleanor came to us, she was this sweet little proper lady who probably hadn't so much as raised her voice to anyone in decades. A few months sparing with you and she's developing a potty mouth that could make a sailor blush. Stan's just protecting the weak among us."
"And I'm just helping her uncover what was hidden behind that sweet façade all along. I'm actually doing her a favor," she insisted. Checking her watch, she added, "I'm starving. Are you ready for lunch?"
"It's a little early but I could eat," he agreed.
"Damn. That reminds me: I told Jessica I would call her so we could get together for lunch one day this week, and it's already Wednesday. She probably thinks I blew her off."
"We don't have much going on this afternoon that we have to rush back to the office for," he noted. "Maybe she can meet us today."
"Maybe." She scrolled down her contact list and selected a number. After a few seconds, she said, "Hey, Jess, this is Mary Shepherd. What are you doing for lunch today?"
"Working," Jessica replied. "We're setting up to cater a luncheon. Why?"
"Marshall and I were hoping you could meet us. I'm sorry I didn't call earlier in the week. Today is the first day we haven't been knee deep in paperwork."
"No problem. I've been swamped as well or I would've called you. And I'm tied up tomorrow and Friday too. If we're going to do lunch, it will have to be one day next week."
"I'll have to call you. We'll be out of town for at least a couple of days."
"Call when you get back. There's no rush on my end," she assured her.
"All right. We'll talk then."
"Oh wait, Mary, before you go, would you mind if I talked to Marshall for a sec?"
Glancing over at him, she replied, "Um, no, not at all. Here he is." Handing her Blackberry to him, she told him, "She wants to talk to you."
Accepting the phone, he then fixed his eyes back on the street ahead. "Hey, Jess, what's going on?"
"I wanted to let you know that there's been a change in plans for this weekend," she explained. "Instead of putting in the sprinkler system, I'm going to start the deck on the side of the house. I'm setting the piers in cement later this afternoon when I wrap up things at work, so I should be able to finish the deck by next weekend. If you're still interested, I'll start the sprinkler system then."
"I'm definitely still interested," he assured her. "But building a deck from scratch sounds interesting, too. Could you use some help with that?"
"Well, sure," she responded slowly, sounding surprised, "but I don't want to take advantage."
"You wouldn't be. It sounds like fun. Is Saturday morning after 8:00 still good for you?"
"It is."
"I'll give you a call Friday and you can let me know what I need to bring."
"All right, then, we'll talk Friday."
When he glanced over to hand Mary's phone back to her, he found her staring at him thoughtfully.
"What?" he asked.
"'It sounds like fun'," she repeated. "What was that all about?"
"Instead of putting in a sprinkler system this weekend like she had planned, she's building a deck. I offered to help."
"You're going to help her this weekend and next? Is there something I should know about?"
He threw his hands up in the air, briefly leaving the steering wheel unattended. "You ask me to spend time with your witness, then you give me the third degree when I actually comply," he complained. "What does it take to make you happy?"
"Okay, okay, calm down," she advised. "I should've realized that you're simply being your normal Marshall-to-the-rescue self." She added sincerely, "And I do appreciate it. You know that."
"Yeah, I know that," he agreed. "What would you do without me?"
"Probably get myself fired for punching Eleanor," she muttered as she looked out of the window.
***"I put a lot more piers in than I normally would have for a deck this small," Jessica explained, pointing to the cement supports set into the ground in front of them. "It needs to be able to hold a lot of weight for the hot tub."
Marshall's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Hot tub?"
Smiling excitedly, she told him, "I bought a hot tub this week from one of my clients who's replacing hers with a new one. It isn't something I planned, but when the opportunity arose I couldn't pass it up. She didn't want much for it as long as someone would pick it up before the new one arrived. And it looks like it's hardly been used. That's why I put the sprinkler system off for another week."
"How are you getting it here?" he asked.
"The husband of one of my employees is going to pick it up and deliver it to me. He's in construction and has a trailer it will fit on. It's arriving on Thursday."
"Well, then, we'd better get to work," he decided with a smile.
***As he strolled from the bathroom, his hair neatly combed but still wet after a much-needed shower, Marshall made a mental note to replenish with clean clothes the overnight bag he perpetually kept in his vehicle for those unexpected, spur of the moment, out of town jaunts his work occasionally required. Tucking the tail of his oxford shirt into his jeans, he was feeling particularly mellow. He and Jessica had worked all day side by side and the experience had been a pleasant one. He smiled to himself when he recalled just how pleasant.
He was, in fact, feeling so relaxed that he had all but forgotten his original purpose for being there. Although they had chatted all day while working, not once during the long day had he asked her about anything pertaining to the events that had preceded her arrival in Albuquerque. The thought had not even crossed his mind.
"Can I help with anything?" he asked as he entered the kitchen.
"You can grab the plates and silverware," Jessica answered, placing a dish in the middle of the barstool-surrounded island.
Having complied, he set a place for both of them. "Anything else?" he queried.
"I think that's everything," she replied, placing a last dish between them.
Within minutes, they were settled across from each other.
After sampling a bite from his plate, Marshall closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "Mmmm. This salmon is perfect. You know, you could probably get me to work for you every day if you paid me in food."
"Feeding you is the very least I can do," Jessica assured him, handing him a glass of iced tea. "I can't believe how much we accomplished. I'll easily be able to finish the trim tomorrow. You worked like a man possessed today."
"And I can see how you were able to remodel this house in the short time you did. You're a hard worker, too."
"Thanks." After taking a sip of tea, she noted, "It's fairly obvious that you've had some experience with a nail gun."
"I help out on my grandparent's ranch whenever I get the chance. There's always one project or another to work on out there."
"Well, if you ever wanted to change careers, you could easily go into construction. Or maybe architecture would better suit you. The suggestions you made on the deck turned out great. I love the curved design, versus the boring, ordinary rectangle I had planned."
"I enjoyed the work today, but I think I'll keep my day job," he informed her with a smile.
"What made you decide to become a marshal?" she asked curiously before taking a bite of salad.
"My father is a marshal, as was my grandfather, my great-grandfather, and my great-great-grandfather," he explained. "It's sort of in the blood."
"Wow. That's quite the legacy. So how soon did you know you wanted to follow in their footsteps?"
"When I was about three, as soon as I was old enough to play with my Daddy's badge."
Jessica let out a laugh. "That's pretty early to make a career decision."
"I never wanted to do anything else," he admitted. "The only time I ever cut class at school was on career day. I just didn't see the point."
"I'll bet your family is proud," she acknowledged with a smile.
"I suppose my Dad is. My Mom worries, like she did for Dad all while I was growing up. But she knew there was no use fighting it."
Her expression grew wistful as she said, "You sound like you're close to your family."
"I am," he agreed. "What about you? Were you close to your parents?"
"At times," she shrugged after chewing a bite. "My sister's death was really hard on them. My mother never got over it. She kind of checked out mentally and emotionally after that. My Dad threw himself into his work and was away a lot. So I was kind of left to my own devices for the most part. When their health started to decline, I began spending more time with them. I was able to sort of reconnect with my Dad, at least. He had cancer and my mother developed Alzheimer's. At the end, she didn't even know who I was."
"That must have been heart-breaking," he noted sympathetically. "Was James supportive in your taking care of them?"
"He had his moments when he resented the amount of time it took, but for the most part he was. I had a really good relationship with his parents, so I think he finally realized that if it became necessary I would give them the same kind of care. That kind of improved his outlook."
Marshall watched her for a moment, reluctantly recalling his mission, wondering if he should take the opening or let it go and simply enjoy the evening. Mary's voice in his head finally won out and he said, "When you mention your husband, you speak kindly of him. You never sound angry. In your position, I don't think I could be so magnanimous."
Jessica shook her head without actually looking at him. "I'm not angry with him."
"His actions were responsible for the loss of your son," he reminded her gently. "How can you not be angry with him?"
She took a long drink before responding in a flat, emotionless voice, "Getting involved with drug dealers was just James being James. He was always looking for his next get-rich-quick scheme. And for as long as I knew him, he was simply incapable of grasping the concept of consequences. I've never known anyone who could walk so blindly into something without ever being able to foresee a possible negative outcome. He lived for the moment with little thought to the future. Although he had never been involved in anything so blatantly illegal before, what he did was typical of him. I was, of course, furious and terrified when he told me, but not completely surprised."
"How long were you together?"
"We began dating in high school when we were sixteen, and married the summer after we graduated when we were eighteen." She added quietly, "We were kids, and we acted like kids at first. As time passed I grew up. I kept waiting for him to do the same, but it never happened."
"You were married a long time before you had a child," he pointed out.
"It wasn't intentional. We wanted a baby for years, but I couldn't seem to get pregnant. When the doctor finally confirmed that I was, I didn't believe her. She had to show me the test results," she admitted with a slight smile. "I had never been so happy in my whole life."
He studied her briefly, then shook his head. "So how can you not be angry at James for what he did, for all you lost?"
After a deep sigh, she replied, "James' lack of responsibility was a real source of conflict within our marriage. But I've always believed that you keep your promises, and that the 'until death' part of the marriage vow was meant to be literal. Whatever our personal problems and whatever he did or didn't feel for me, though, there was one fact never in doubt: he loved our son with every fiber of his being. He never would've done anything to hurt him intentionally."
"He chose to go to work for drug dealers. Whether he could foresee the outcome or not, he knew he was breaking the law. That makes him responsible for everything that happened as a result."
"And he paid for what he did," she insisted.
"By dying?" he questioned. "It hardly seems like enough for the pain he caused you."
"He paid with more than his life." Avoiding his eyes again, she explained, "After the accident, before the paramedics arrived on the scene, James came to and immediately asked about Silas. I had to tell him that our son was dead. There could be no greater punishment for him, knowing that he was to at least some degree responsible for the death of his son. I know that's why he never woke up from surgery. I'm completely convinced that he willed himself to die because he couldn't live with what he had done. He paid, what was for him, the ultimate price for his mistakes. That's why my being angry at him was, and is, pointless."
Her response was not something Marshall had anticipated and he could think of nothing to say for a moment. Finally, he quietly said the only thing he could. "I'm sorry, Jess, for what you went through." Trying to think of something helpful to say, he added, "Hopefully you'll get a little closure once the trial is over. I've had more than one witness tell me that they were better able to put the past behind them after they testified."
She shook her head slowly and closed her eyes. "The trial – it's like a black cloud hanging over my head. I didn't expect it to take this long. I get knots in my stomach just thinking about it."
"I know that facing the men who took your family from you is a frightening prospect, but Mary and I will be there to help you through."
"I'm not afraid to face them," she assured him. "I'm only afraid that I'll do or say something during my testimony that will screw up the case against them. It feels like such a huge responsibility."
"You shouldn't feel as though it's all on you. Even though you're the only remaining eyewitness, your testimony is still just one part of a group effort to put these people out of business. You also have to accept going in that you can do everything right and they still might not be convicted. There are too many variables involved. You have to be careful not to pin your hopes or future well-being on the outcome of the trial," he admonished. "Plenty of witnesses start out doing well in WITSec, and are then completely derailed after the trial when the verdict doesn't come back the way they want. Every witness has hopes and expectations going into the courtroom, but whether you hope for revenge, or justice, or just the chance to tell how what they did affected your life, you have to prepare yourself to accept the verdict the jury hands down, whatever that verdict may be – even if it's an acquittal."
"I can accept that. And I don't want revenge or even the chance to be heard," Jessica insisted, her eyes intense. "The reason I'm testifying is because I owe it to my son to try to keep someone else from having to pay the price he did and go through what I did at the hands of these people who have so little regard for human life. They need to be forced to acknowledge that the lives they took had value. I mean, how do they get to the point where they can kill innocent people simply as a by-product of doing business? The men who killed James could've just as easily targeted him when he was alone. Their fight was with him, not with anyone else. Why would they attack him when he was with his family, on a busy street, where others would be endangered as well? I don't understand that."
Marshall sipped his tea, trying to decide how to address the same questions he had been asked by so many other witnesses. The answers never came easily. "It was a matter of guilt by association. They couldn't take the chance that James had told you or your son something that would help identify them. Also, in their line of work human life has little value. There are always others to take the place of those who die along the way – other drug runners, other dealers, other customers. They don't see people as individuals; everyone is expendable."
After regarding him thoughtfully for a moment, she crossed her arms on the bar and leaned on them. "How do you deal with what you see? The tragedy, the violence, the broken lives? It has to get to you at times."
"It does at times," he admitted. "In our job we deal intimately with the aftermath of the tragedy and violence, and it can certainly take a toll. But helping people pick up the pieces and make a new life for themselves is the largest part of our job, and it can be very rewarding, especially when someone formerly involved in that sort of violent lifestyle takes the opportunity offered and turns their life around. The tragic circumstances that bring our witnesses to us would affect me a lot more if I couldn't do anything to help."
She smiled slightly, although the smile didn't actually reach her eyes. "That's good to know. Now I don't feel quite so bad about unloading on you, especially on what's technically your day off."
He gave her a genuine smile in return. "I've been trying to tell you all along that I'm a good listener." He added a little more seriously, "Anytime you need an ear, or a shoulder, I'm only a phone call away, Jess. And I'm not offering to help because I have to; I'm offering because I want to."
She looked at him, contemplating, then pointed out, "It hardly seems like a fair trade, for what you get out of it."
Gesturing to his empty plate, he replied happily, "Trust me: You keep feeding me like this and we'll be more than even."
Nodding, she readily agreed, "It's a deal."
***Mary glanced to her right at Marshall's sleeping witness. They were flying commercial and had encountered the same maddening delays experienced by the general public accompanying them. With the added route changes made to ensure the safety of the witness, they had been changing planes and traveling all day. Although she was dead tired as well, she knew sleep would elude her until they were safely surrounded by hotel room walls. It was always that way when they were escorting a witness.
Turning her head in the direction of the aisle, she studied her partner's profile as he read the financial magazine he had found tucked in the seatback in front of him. They had known their current trip would come at some point during the week, but they hadn't known until that morning that the prosecution would be ready for his witness the next day. With the hurried preparations, and the constant company of his witness, it was their first moment of being relatively alone all day.
"Are you just going to sit there and ignore me, or could you at least regale me with some of your pointless trivia to help me stay awake?" she asked in a hushed voice after he failed to notice that she was watching him.
Recognizing her I'm-bored-to-tears tone, he closed the magazine and gave her his full attention. "What would you like to talk about?" he asked equally quietly with a smile that was only slightly patronizing.
"Well, for starters, you could tell me how things went this weekend with Jessica."
"It went well. We spent most of the day working together."
"And were you able to get her to talk about the accident?"
With a nod, he answered, "We did discuss it some. She seems to open up a little more each time we visit. The first time we talked, she only referred to James as 'my husband'. She didn't use his name at all, and she only used Silas' name once. This time was different, although she still didn't talk much about Silas. I can tell it's difficult for her to do that yet."
"So what did she say about James?"
After a thoughtful sigh, he explained, "Well, for one thing, she isn't angry at him like we thought. She is, however, angry at the men who attacked them, specifically at their callous disregard for the innocent lives they endangered and destroyed when their beef was only with James."
"As well she should be, but why isn't she angry at James? It was his actions that brought them all into contact with those monsters."
"She said James was only being true to his nature in becoming involved with drug dealers. Evidently he was one of those people who are always looking for easy money, jumping from one scheme to another. It sounds like he was totally irresponsible. Jess said he was never able to look ahead and consider the possible consequences of his actions."
"Sounds like a wonderful husband and father," she noted sarcastically. "You said 'for one thing'. What's another?"
"She told me James died knowing he was responsible for the death of their son, and that there could be no greater punishment for him. As a result, she feels that her being angry at him is pointless."
Mary leaned her head back against the seat, thinking over what he had said. "I suppose there's a certain twisted sort of logic in there somewhere." Looking over at him, she asked, "Did she have anything else to say?"
"That she's afraid she'll do or say something wrong when she takes the stand, but isn't afraid to face the defendants and testify."
"Yeah, that's what they all say. It's a different story when they actually come face to face with the people who want to put them six feet under, though. Did you give her the acquittal-can-derail-you speech?"
"I did," he nodded. "She seems to understand."
"Let's hope so. The last thing we need is another witness going off the deep end."
"I can't see that happening. I don't get that feeling from her at all."
"Are you still planning to help her this coming weekend?"
"I'm sort of committed," he pointed out with a shrug. "I don't think it would be good for her to back out when she's just beginning to open up."
"You should get her to talk about Silas then," Mary advised. "Her son's death has to be a huge source of pain and anger for her. Talking about it, getting it out in the open, can only help."
Marshall frowned when the suggestion evoked a sudden, inexplicable feeling of protectiveness somewhere inside him. But with his partner waiting expectantly for his response, all he could do was push the feeling aside and answer, "If the opportunity presents itself, I will. I don't want to push her into something she isn't ready for, though. We're definitely making progress but it needs to continue at her pace. I'll have to play it by ear."
Mary nodded. "I'll have to trust your judgment on that. God knows I didn't get anywhere with her. Before you took over, I even considered watching the video in her file, the one from the accident scene, to see if there was something that might give me a handle on how to help her." Leaning back again and closing her eyes, she let out a long sigh. "I just couldn't bring myself to watch that level of suffering, though."
"It can't be pleasant," he agreed.
Looking at him thoughtfully, she said, "Maybe you should watch it. It might help you find a way to talk with her about her son. At the very least, it will help to know what she went through and how she reacted."
He contemplated a moment, feeling decidedly uncomfortable with the thought. "Maybe," he replied noncommittally. "I'll think about it."
***"I'll meet you at the truck," Mary said as she left cash for her portion of lunch on the table. "I need to make a pit stop."
"Hurry up," he urged. "We have to be back at the office in fifteen."
She waved him off without replying, and he left his own payment on the table and headed out of the diner. On the way to the SUV, he took advantage of the moment alone to flip open his phone and make a call.
After a few seconds, he said, "Jess, this is Marshall."
"Hey. How are you?"
"I'm fine," he replied. "And you?"
"Tired. I had a couple of late jobs already this week and I'm preparing for the one tonight," she explained. "Are you back in town?"
"I am, and I was just calling to confirm our plans for tomorrow. Do you still want me to pick up the trencher?"
"Sure, that would be really helpful. I've already reserved it. You can pick it up anytime between 5 and 7PM today, or after 7 in the morning, whichever is convenient for you. The charge is the same either way."
"Where is it?"
"I don't have the address handy at the moment but I can text it to you in a few minutes, if that's all right."
"It is. What time do you want to get started?"
"Any time in the morning is fine with me."
"Anything else I need to bring?"
"Only a good pair of work gloves. The trencher will give you blisters, otherwise. Oh … and swimming trunks, if you want to try out the hot tub."
With a smile, he replied, "That goes without saying." Glancing over his shoulder to see Mary exiting the diner, he added, "I'll see you in the morning, Jess. Call me if there's anything else I can do."
"I will. Have a good day."
***Marshall sat at his desk, trying to focus on the reports in front of him. It wasn't that he was behind on his paperwork – of the two of them, Mary was the procrastinator. But ever-changing rules demanded ever-changing documentation. To update the files for several of his witnesses he was required to submit current housing statements. Being the stickler for details that he was, it was a job he normally would've tackled with relish. He just couldn't seem to concentrate, however.
In the four days since he and Mary had talked on the plane, the suggestion she had made about reviewing the recording in Jessica's file was proving to be a continual source of distraction. Part of him wished she had never mentioned it: Something about watching it seemed like a huge invasion of privacy to him, even though reviewing similar material was a normal part of their jobs. At the same time part of him felt compelled, not out of morbid curiosity, but out of what he tried to convince himself was a simple desire to help his partner's witness through the difficult adjustment to WITSec life. After attempting for days to sort out his feelings on the matter, though, it was another part of him that was causing the most confusion. Questioning his motives and feeling conflicted was beginning to be a part of every day life for him. Ever since Mary had announced her engagement, he had felt restless and unsettled. The pang he felt when he happened to catch sight of the ring on her finger, just before she pocketed it upon arriving at work, or when he heard the familiarity in her voice as she spoke to Raphael over the phone, was taking a toll. More and more, he had come to view the task of helping Jessica as a welcome distraction from his nagging, unresolved feelings for his partner. But that day, something had changed. He had been taken completely by surprise by the feeling of happiness he had felt upon hearing Jessica's voice after lunch. He found that he was eagerly anticipating the next day – much more than he should be if all he was really doing was trying to please his partner and help her witness.
"Marshall?" a voice queried, intruding on his introspection.
"Hmm?" he responded, looking up slightly dazed.
Eleanor stood in front of his desk, studying him curiously. "Is everything all right?"
"Uh, sure … Why do you ask?"
"Because you've been sitting there, staring off into space, for about twenty minutes now. Is there something I can help you with?"
He shook his head, looking down at the paperwork spread before him. "I'm just thinking about a case." Picking up his pen, he casually waved her off with a smile. "I'm fine. Just a little tired, I guess. It's been a long week."
"Okay," she nodded, still regarding him thoughtfully. "If I can do anything, let me know."
"I will, thanks."
While she returned to her own desk, he picked up a form and began to read it over. But after only a few seconds, he tossed it aside. Passing a hand over his face, he sighed, then suddenly gathered papers back into files and stood up. Making his way to Eleanor's desk, he handed several folders to her.
"Would you give these to Stan when he gets back and tell him that I took the remaining files home with me to work on this weekend? I just remembered an errand I have to run."
"Sure," she nodded, "I'll tell him. Anything else?"
"That's it," he informed her. "I need to grab something out of one of Mary's files before I go."
"Is she going to be back today?"
"No," he answered as he opened the filing cabinet behind his partner's desk. "She was going to check on one of her witnesses who's scheduled to testify in a few weeks, and head home from there." Rifling through the files, he pulled out a disk that was tucked into one, then closed the drawer.
"All right. Have a good weekend, Marshall."
He gathered his remaining files, along with the disk, and responded with a smile as he headed for the elevator, "Thanks, Eleanor. You, too."
***The image of a uniformed police officer running to a vehicle that had crashed into a traffic light pole was the first thing that leapt into view on the screen. As the officer leaned over to peer through the driver's window, the voice of his partner coming from inside the cruiser, requesting fire and rescue help, drowned out the words he was saying. When the first officer turned back toward the cruiser with a look of shock on his face, his partner scrambled out to meet him. The dashboard camera recorded the first officer putting a hand on the hood of the cruiser to steady himself, his face drained of all color.
"What is it?" the second demanded.
After taking some deep breaths, the first replied, "There's a boy … a little boy." Shaking his head, his voice was full of distress as he explained in a rush of words, "They were shot. The little boy was shot in the head. The mother is in the front seat with the father, trying to keep him from bleeding to death."
Gripping his partner's arm tightly, the second officer commanded, "We need more help. Call for back-up. I'm going to see what I can do."
The recording had obviously been edited since the next segment clearly came from the second officer's pocket video recorder. It showed a quick passage of the street ahead, then the side of the car, to finally settle on the occupants of the front seat as the officer leaned over. The scene inside was a bloody mess, with shattered glass sprinkled over everything. A man was slumped over in the driver's seat and a woman was pressing a small towel, already soaked beyond capacity, to his bleeding neck with one hand. Her other was covering another wound on the man's shoulder where more blood was seeping out. Her clothes were splotched with blood as well.
"I'm Sergeant Joe Harlan. An ambulance is on the way," he said quickly. "What's your name?"
The woman looked up, and although tears were streaming down her cheeks, her voice was completely emotionless as she answered, "Rose Lawrence."
"And this is your husband?"
"Yes – James."
The scene shifted slightly to capture a view of the back seat, then the camera quickly focused on the woman again. "Are you hurt anywhere?"
"I don't think so."
Footsteps approached and the officer turned to his partner. Speaking to him quietly, he said, "Go get the first aid kit and a blanket out of the trunk."
Turning back to the vehicle, he carefully opened the front car door and leaned down. "Can you tell me what happened?"
She looked at him blankly, as if she didn't understand his question. After a few seconds, she answered numbly, "There were two men in a blue car. They shot at us."
As the other officer returned with the requested supplies, Officer Harlan opened the back door and gently placed the blanket over the small form lying on the seat. He then turned and began pulling sterile bandages out of the first aid kit.
"Why don't you let me take over, Rose," he suggested.
She immediately shook her head. "I can do this." She then looked at him with pleading eyes and asked, "Can you help my son?"
The officer's voice was full of sympathy as he replied, "Help is on the way."
After a little more footage from the officer, as well as some from the dashboard recorder showing rescue vehicles arriving, the scene changed to what appeared to be a small conference room. The quality of the video was of a much higher grade and the camera was stationary, as if set up on a tripod. Rose came into camera view seconds later, dressed in clean hospital scrubs, and accompanied by Officer Harlan. They both sat down at a table as two other men entered the room behind them.
"Mrs. Lawrence, my name is David McArthur and I'm a prosecutor with the U.S. Attorney's office," one of the men said. Turning to his right, he added, "This is Orin Nash with the U.S. Marshal's Service in Philadelphia." After they had both taken a seat at the conference table, he continued, "Officer Harlan here and his partner have already filled us in on what happened, but I'd like to hear it from you, if you don't mind. Can you answer a few questions?"
Rose nodded vacantly. "I think so."
"First of all, can you tell me where you were going when you were attacked?"
"We were on our way to visit my in-laws."
"Is that something you do every Sunday, as part of your normal routine?"
"For the most part, yes."
"So what happened today?"
She frowned as she stared at the table. "It all happened so fast. It's hard to remember."
"Just tell us what you do remember," he encouraged.
With a slow nod, she replied, "We were talking about school. Silas was going to be in a play and we were all looking forward to it. Then he said he was thirsty so I bent down to get him some juice from my bag, but it fell out on the floorboard." She closed her eyes briefly as she continued, "It was so loud. It was like an explosion. The windows broke and glass sprayed everywhere. I didn't know what had happened at first. The car began to swerve as I sat up. I looked over at James and he was holding his neck – blood was pouring out. At first I thought it was from the broken glass, then I saw the men in the other car. The one on the passenger's side looked surprised when he saw me and he raised a gun. I was already reaching for the steering wheel because we were swerving, so I turned it, hard, and the car jumped the sidewalk. A split second later, we hit the pole. The other car sped up and drove on." As tears began to trickle down her cheeks, she explained, "The first thing I did was try to get to Silas. But it was too late. There wasn't anything I could do. So I tried to help James, and then the officers arrived."
As she dried her eyes with a crumpled tissue, the prosecutor exchanged a look with the marshal, then asked, "James worked in security at Harrisburg International, is that correct?"
"Yes," she answered simply.
"And do you know what he did there?"
"You're referring to the drugs, right?"
He looked at her intently. "Yes, I am. What do you know about it?"
"I learned last week that he had been passing bags for drug dealers when I found a role of cash while I was putting away laundry. I confronted him and he told me where the money came from. I was so freaked, I started throwing things into a suitcase. I told him I was taking Silas and leaving. He begged me to stay and promised he would stop. I tried to get him to go to the police, but he said the men he was working for would come after him if he did. He assured me that he had a safe way to get out if I would just give him some time. I told him he had a week, then I was going to the authorities myself if he hadn't quit. Friday, he told me he had." She leaned forward and held her head in her hands. "I never should've trusted what he told me. I should've taken Silas and left the day I found out. If I had, my baby would still be alive."
Officer Harlan put his arm across her shoulders and tried to comfort her as the prosecutor told her, "It isn't your fault. The men who did this probably would've tracked you down anyway. They wouldn't have allowed any of you to live, on the outside chance that James had told you something that could hurt them. Did he mention any names, or give you any information, like schedules for shipments, that would help us put them away?"
"No. I didn't want to know anything except that he wasn't going to work for them anymore."
"That's all right," he assured her. "You're a witness to what happened today and that's a good start. If you're willing to help us, we can protect you."
She looked at him in confusion. "Help you?"
"Someone in a car behind yours saw what happened and followed the men who shot your husband and son, until the police took over. Both men were apprehended a little while ago and are in custody right now. I'd like to take you to the police station and see if you can pick them out of a line-up. If you can, and if you're willing to testify to what they did, the U.S. Attorney's office is prepared to relocate you and James, provided he agrees to testify as well. You would be given new identities and moved under the Witness Protection Program."
After contemplating a moment, she said, "I don't know that James will be willing to help. He was adamant about not going to the authorities before. What if he refuses to testify?"
"Then you will have a decision to make. You can either take your chances with him, which I wouldn't recommend, or you can still do the right thing and agree to testify to what you personally saw. If you do, we will relocate you alone, without James. In that case, he will most likely be facing a prison term anyway." With a shrug, he added, "It may not seem like an easy decision to make, but it really boils down to a choice between life and death. The men James worked for are ruthless, as you have sadly found out. They won't willingly allow him or you to walk away from this. They'll continue to try to find you both, even if James doesn't testify. Leaving loose ends is not their style. Without our help, you'll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life."
She held her head again, closing her eyes. Finally she said, "James is still in surgery. I can't make any decision without talking to him first."
"Would you at least be willing to look at a line-up? The police station where the men are being held is only a short distance from here. We can have you there and back before James is out of recovery."
With a reluctant nod, she agreed, "All right. I'll go with you." Fresh tears began to spill from her eyes as she added quietly, "I owe it to my son to do everything I can to make sure the men who killed him don't hurt anyone else."
***Marshall trudged up the stairs of his building, his legs so tired he could barely lift them the height of each step. His apartment was dark when he opened the door, and he flipped on lights as he made his way to the kitchen. Taking a fresh water bottle from the fridge, he leaned back against the counter and ran it over his forehead. The cold did nothing to dispel his headache, so he placed the bottle against the back of his neck in order to cool it. He had no idea how long he had been running – he only knew that the sun was still fairly high in the Southwestern sky when he had left, and it was now pitch black out except for the muted glow of street lights. The physical exercise usually calmed his mind, as well as his body, when things were troubling him. This time, though, all he was left with was bone-weary fatigue and a throbbing headache. Nothing, mind nor body, felt calm. He finally pushed himself forward and headed for a cool shower.
***The blue heavy-duty tarp lining the back of the SUV slid out with the trencher as he pulled it to him and lifted it down. Rolling it forward slightly, he pulled the tarp out from under it, folded it loosely and tossed it back into the truck, then pulled the hatch down. When he turned around to push the trencher to the side of the drive-way, he heard the front door of Jessica's house close. He looked up to see her taking a seat on the front steps, barefoot, dressed in a nightshirt, her dark curls tousled. He smiled as he made his way toward her.
"Good morning. Am I too early?"
She propped her elbows on her knees and rested her chin in her hands. Her eyes and voice were sleepy as she replied, "When I said 'anytime in the morning', I didn't think I needed to specify that it should be sometime after the crack of dawn, Marshall."
He let out a laugh. "Sorry. I woke up early and couldn't go back to sleep, so I thought I might as well head out." Checking his watch, he noted, "And it isn't really all that early, you know."
With a little groan, she rubbed the back of her neck. "It sure feels like it. I got to bed much later than I expected. The party we catered last night went into serious overtime. The host is going to get quite the shock when he receives his bill. We worked more than three hours later than originally specified and he's going to pay my staff double time for every minute of it. I spell it all out up front when I take a job, but for some reason clients seem to have a hard time remembering that part."
"Well if he gives you any trouble, tell him you have a U.S. Marshal on the payroll who does your collections for you. That might get his attention."
She giggled and told him, "Although that's actually what I kept Blanche on the payroll to do, I'd pay the staff out of my own pocket to see a showdown between the two of you. My client fancies himself as something of a tough, cowboy type. It wouldn't be much of a fight since you would easily take him, but it sure would be fun to watch."
"Just give the word," he assured her.
"I'll let you know." She stood up and motioned to him. "Come on inside. If you're a coffee drinker, you can make a pot while I shower and get dressed. Since you decided to be my alarm clock, I may as well put you to work," she pointed out with a smile.
***Marshall leaned back and let out a long, satisfied sigh. "Geez, it doesn't get much better than this: Delicious food, good company, sitting under the stars in the cool night air, and pulsing hot water to soothe my tired muscles." He opened his eyes and added, "I only hope I don't get so relaxed that I have to crawl to the truck in order to drive home. That could prove embarrassing."
"I'd never tell anyone," Jessica assured him as she gave him a smile. "The trencher takes a toll, doesn't it? Truth be told, I was really glad when you volunteered for the job. I was not looking forward to the beat-up feeling it leaves in its wake. The work would be so much more difficult without it, but it's an exhausting piece of equipment to use."
"No more so than the shovel you used to fill the trenches back in after the pipe was laid. We make a good team. We accomplished a lot today," he nodded in satisfaction.
"We did," she agreed. "It was worth how sore I'm going to be tomorrow."
"My shoulders are probably going to be a little sore as well." Leaning forward, he moved over slightly so that jets hit the back of his legs. "This feels great on my aching legs, too."
"Your legs ache from today?"
"No, I went for a really long run yesterday after work."
"Trying to get in your mileage for the week?" she questioned curiously.
"Not exactly." He glanced at her and shrugged. "I had a lot on my mind."
"One of those times when the job got to you?" she suggested.
He studied her for a moment, then answered, "Yes, as a matter of fact, it was."
"I'm sorry," she offered sincerely. "I wish I could return the favor and offer to lend an ear, but I suppose that would be pointless. I assume you aren't allowed to talk about your work, given the nature of what you do."
Although the rule didn't quite apply given the circumstances, he had no intention of discussing what he had viewed the evening before with her. So with a nod, he replied, "Your assumption is correct."
"That has to be difficult," she noted, "not being able to confide in anyone. You and Mary must really depend on each other in that respect."
Letting out a sigh, he acknowledged, "Yeah, we do."
"You know, when I first met the two of you, I thought you were a couple. I didn't realize you weren't until you made a comment about setting Blanche straight on the matter."
"For all the good it did. Blanche had her own ideas and wasn't easily persuaded from them."
Jessica smiled. "Oh, she knew better. She just liked giving you a hard time. Actually, Blanche has a special place in her heart for you. She always said that if she was a few years younger, she'd be all over you."
He shuddered as if he had felt a chill. "Thanks for that disturbing mental image."
"You're welcome," she responded brightly.
Frowning slightly, he asked, "So what was it exactly that made you think Mary and I were a couple?"
"Well, for one thing, you're very comfortable with each other," she replied thoughtfully. "And then there's the good-natured bickering. I had an aunt and uncle like that. They were always sniping at each other but they had been married for almost fifty years. It was actually a sign of mutual affection with them."
"Yeah, well, with us it's usually just a sign of mutual annoyance," he contended.
"Speaking of couples, Mary mentioned that she's engaged. What is her fiancé like? Does he treat her well?"
Marshall regarded her with a touch of suspicion, wondering at the question. With a shrug, he responded, "From what I've seen, he's a nice enough guy."
"You must be happy for her, then."
"I am," he nodded, focusing on the swirling water and thinking of the moment that Mary had told him they were engaged, how the announcement had made him feel anything but happy.
"I'm sorry."
He looked up in mild surprise. "Hmm? What for?"
"The subject seems to make you uncomfortable. I didn't mean to put you on the spot."
"It's all right," he assured her, "you didn't. It's just that Mary and I have been partners for a long time. Her engagement and eventual marriage will no doubt bring about … a certain amount of changes. And as I've told her on occasion, men don't accept change easily."
"That's an odd thing to say, coming from someone who relocates people and gives them new lives for a living. I would think that you, of all people, would be more accepting."
With a slight smile, he replied, "Convincing someone else that change is the best thing since sliced bread, and accepting it for myself, are two very different things."
"Not all change is bad," she pointed out. "And your relationship with Mary may not be affected as much as you imagine. It's easy to see that she depends on you. I can't imagine that being any different once she's married."
"You don't think so?" he questioned quietly, beginning to feel uncomfortable with the conversation but unable to bring himself to steer it in another direction. Like a train wreck, he felt compelled to see it to the painful, ugly end.
"Of course not. A woman doesn't easily give up the kind of relationship that Mary has with you."
He turned to look at her with genuine curiosity. "What do you mean?"
Pulling her knees up on the bench, she wrapped her arms around them under the bubbling water. "Well, from what you've told me about what I'll be facing when I return to testify, I know the kind of work you do puts you in danger, which means the two of you rely on each other for your safety and literal lives. You also told me you deal with heart-breaking situations at times, and aren't able to talk about them with anyone else, so I'm sure you confide in each other your most deep-seated emotions. You travel together which means you spend long hours in each other's company and share a good part of your lives. Most married people don't have that close of a relationship. In fact, some people go through their entire lives without ever experiencing anything like it. I think women in particular understand how rare it is to find someone they can even have that kind of a relationship with. Believe me, Mary won't let go of that, however her life away from work changes."
"You sound as though you're speaking from experience," he pointed out thoughtfully. "From what you've told me, I can't imagine you had that with James. Did you have that kind of relationship with someone else?"
Shaking her head and avoiding his questioning look, she responded, "Oh, you don't want me to bore you with answering that."
"Oh, yes I do," he quickly assured her. "I really, really do. Spill it, Girl."
She studied him with a smile, amused at his eager expression. With an exaggerated sigh of resignation, she finally gave in and said, "Since you insist... Remember when I told you I had worked on my in-law's remodel, and that my brother-in-law had taught me much of what I know about it?" At his nod, she continued, "Well, Clayton has all the charm and qualities that appealed to me in James, but he's a grown up. He shoulders his responsibilities willingly, he's stable, and he's able to look outside of himself, past just his own needs and desires – all of the qualities that James lacked. I worked on the house through the day a lot with Clayton alone, when everyone else was working at regular jobs or busy with kids and other obligations. We always had a … connection, but the opportunity afforded us time to really get to know each other. He confided in me about his marriage, among other things. His wife was very much like James: self-absorbed and immature. We had a lot in common and I grew close to him."
"And did you confide in him about your own marriage and problems with James?"
"Some, but they were brothers; he already knew what James was like. And I think that was one of the most appealing things about our relationship. He truly understood and sympathized with what I was going through. It made what we shared feel a lot more intimate," she explained with a shrug.
"Did you ever take it to the next level, become more intimate, I mean?" he asked.
"You mean have an affair?" She shook her head. "Neither of us would've ever done that. We both felt the same way about our marriage vows. It was one more thing about him that appealed to me, his sense of loyalty despite being in a difficult situation." She reached for a glass of tea sitting on the ledge beside her and took a drink. "I know he and I didn't have the same kind of closeness that you and Mary share, given how much time you two spend together and how long you've been partners, but I understand the appeal of that kind of relationship. It's kind of seductive."
Marshall regarded her thoughtfully, mulling over the word she had used. "Seductive," he repeated. Nodding, he said, "I like that word, and I understand what you mean. It can only come from a deep sharing."
"Exactly. And I can guarantee you that Mary feels the same and finds your relationship equally important," she assured him.
Not wanting to consider at that particular moment what his partner did or didn't feel, he said, "It must have been difficult for you to walk away from what you had with your brother-in-law, without even being able to tell him you were all right."
She looked away and admitted quietly, "At the time, I had other things on my mind. It wasn't really a consideration."
Recalling the images that he had viewed the previous evening, he felt a deep wave of sympathy. "I guess it was a time when you could've used a shoulder and someone to turn to, someone you already had a connection with. I'm sorry you didn't have that."
With a slight smile, she noted, "It's all right. I have a shrink to confide in now."
"Only one of many skills needed to do my job," he claimed, returning the smile.
"A job you take very seriously, which is why you're sitting here on a Saturday night instead of doing what you normally would," she pointed out.
"And what do you know about my reasons for being here?" he asked challengingly.
"Oh, I've known for a long time that you're here because Mary sent you to play shrink with me. I recognized that set-up at my open house."
With a feigned look of innocence, he asked, "What makes you think Mary sent me?"
"Probably because nearly every time she and I talked the first few months after I arrived in Albuquerque, she tried to engage me in a conversation about my past, how I felt about what happened, about being here. Then you step in, and suddenly not one more word from her on the subject. It's fairly obvious that she asked you to take over and try to get me to tell you what I didn't tell her."
Unwilling to confirm her suspicions, he queried, "So basically you think my only reason for being here is to twist your arm and get you to talk?"
"You're here because getting me to reconcile myself to what happened in the past, accept my new life, and remain relatively stable at least until I testify is your job," she responded with certainty. "And I understand why that's important. I don't fault you for it."
"Do you honestly think I'm coming out here and working my ass off simply because it's part of my job?" he asked pointedly, only half joking.
Jessica let out a laugh. "Granted, you've gone above and beyond, but yeah, I do." She regarded him intently. "Are you going to try to tell me different?"
It was his turn to look away and he reached for his drink in order to give himself a moment to think. He wasn't sure if he should verify her assumptions or tell her that although the reason for the time he had spent with her had started out as an assignment from his partner, it was beginning to no longer be the only reason for his being there. Finally he decided, "I think I'll plead the fifth on that, in order to avoid incriminating myself."
She laughed again. "Smart move."
"I am at least smart enough to recognize when I'm painted into a corner," he assured her.
"I should hope so," she agreed with an amused nod.
***Marshall tossed his wet swimming trunks, wrapped in a towel, onto the front passenger floor of the truck. "Thank you for dinner, again," he said, turning to face Jessica.
"You're welcome. And thank you for all of the hard work you did for me, again. Have I succeeded yet in making you sorry that you volunteered?" she asked with a smile.
"Nope," he replied succinctly. "I learned a lot today. It was worth every aching muscle and blister." Looking at her expectantly, he asked, "What's on our agenda for next weekend?"
Her eyebrows arched in surprise. "You've learned how to put in a sprinkler system. That was what you said you wanted when you first suggested helping me out. You don't have to come back for any more punishment, Marshall. You've fulfilled your end of the bargain."
"What makes you think that I see working with you as punishment?"
"The fact that you are leaving with aching muscles and blisters," she noted pointedly. "And don't you have enough information from me by now to fill in all the little blanks on the WITSec mental and emotional stability evaluation form?"
"Mmm … not quite," he decided. "I think it's going to take a little more time." Smiling down at her, he added, "So back to the question: What are we doing next weekend?"
She studied him curiously for a moment before finally responding with a shrug, "I'm putting down pavers this week for the walkways, and next weekend I'll start laying sod – another back-breaking, sweaty job. Are you sure you're up for that?"
"Absolutely," he declared. "Same time next Saturday morning?"
"Besides meeting with two new clients and catering a couple of luncheons this week, I have a rehearsal dinner Tuesday night and a wedding to cater Friday evening that's going to take three days to prepare for. Maybe you could show up a little later next weekend," she suggested.
"I can do that," he nodded with smile. Reaching out, he briefly placed his hand on her upper arm. "I'll call you Friday morning to touch base with you. Have a good week, Jess."
"You, too," she responded as he turned to get into the truck. He gave her a wave when she added, "Drive safely going home."