-1Hey Guys,
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Chapter Eight
August 1st
The house was silent.
Peaceful
It was easy to forget the hell her life, her marriage had turned into, just remember the good times, remember how things were when they first got married.
Joanna hummed to herself as she cleaned, something that had been playing on the radio at Grabloffs when she had been doing the shopping. Just a silly little song about falling in love and living happily ever after.
Joseph would have turned the radio off, called the song a day dream, called her stupid to be thinking of happily ever afters when she was old enough to know better.
Her smile faded. Happily ever after? Real life wasn't like that.
She carefully folded some clothes, balancing them across her arm, carrying them up the stairs to their room. Joseph liked things to be put away in their proper place, didn't like things lying around his house.
His house. It was always his house, his rules for all of them. How many times had he told their children "not in my house?"
Was it any wonder their children hated them?
She opened the drawer in their room, looking back at the pile of clothes, sorting through them with her free hand. Wondering how she would fit more things into the oddly over crowded drawer. Sighing, she started to move some things aside, trying to make more room.
Her hand brushed against something cold and hard. She drew back, almost dropping the pile of clothes. Her eyes drawn to the hard, evil, dark shape, hidden at the back of the drawer. She lifted it out, her hand shaking.
It was lighter than she had expected, fitting perfectly into the palm of her hand. Crying out to her, pleading with her to pull the trigger. Pull the trigger. Pullthetriggerpullthetriggerpullthetrigger.
Hurriedly, she dropped it in the drawer, wiping her hand on her trousers. It lay there, innocently evil. The answer to all her problems. Her salvation. Her escape.
What if he found it? Was it his?
She covered it quickly, smoothing the clothes down across it, pushing the drawer shut.
Giving it one last longing look, she walked out of the room.
xxxXXXxxx
August 24th
Graveyards were always cold.
Jessica shivered, despite the sun shinning brightly overhead, feeling a chill bite through her dress as she watched the coffin draw closer, the bright and vivid flowers of the cortege the only colour in the washed out, faded graveyard.
Joanna stood next to her, cold fingers interlaced through hers, staring fixedly at the coffin, her face pale, eyes rimmed with red. Jason stood on the other side of their mother, his arm around her shoulders, rigid and uncomfortable in his dark suit. Trying to ignore the uniformed cop standing just behind him.
Jessica gritted her teeth as the Priest started to speak, his practised voice sliding through the stillness. Gritted her teeth as she heard her mother start to sob, shoulders shaking with her grief.
Gritted her teeth as she heard the cameras, saw the photographers scrambling, fighting amongst themselves to get the best picture they could of a grieving widow, accused of murder. No matter what Jim Steele did, people would always remember the image of Joanna Rossi, crying as her husband was buried.
Jessica was dry eyed. She had promised herself that she would shed no tears for her father.
xxxXXXxxx
"Christina!" Jim walked into her office, his face twisted with anger, eyes dark and shadowed. "Where are the files I asked for?"
"On your desk."
"These aren't the files I asked for."
"You asked for all the domestic homicides that had gone to trial in the last five years."
"I asked for all the domestic homicides were the defence had used spousal abuse as the cornerstone of their case. I don't have time to go through all these." Jim threw the folders onto her desk, the tottering pile spilling across the wooden surface. "Can you get me what I've asked for?"
"Yes, Jim." Christina looked down, refusing to meet his eyes, cheeks stained with embarrassment. "Sorry." She gathered up the files as he walked off, muttering to himself, the rest of the Bureau careful to stay out of his way.
Brian appeared at the door of her office, shirt sleeves rolled up, tie haphazardly strung around his neck. "You okay, Finney?"
"Yeah." She didn't look up, opening the first file, paging through it.
"Don't worry about Steele." Brian smiled at her, the ineffectual fan stirring his crumpled shirt. "He's like this before every murder trial. It's just…with Jess and Julie Phelps, he's tighter than normal. Don't let him get to you. He'll settle down once the trial starts."
Jim's voice echoed loudly around the office. "Where the fuck is Potter?"
xxxXXXxxx
July 7th
Jessica slammed the phone down hard, the shock passing up the palm of her hand. "Fuck!"
"Problems?"
She glared at him, sitting at the other desk, paging through a case file. "What, you eavesdropping on my phone calls now?"
Nick shrugged, not looking up. "Hard not to when you're shouting down the phone. I almost feel sorry for the guy."
"My brother's an asshole."
"You know, I think I heard that." The faintest hint of a smile ghosted across his face as he looked up, and she smiled back. "You want to go get a coffee or something? Tell me what he did this time?"
"No, it's okay." Se felt the tension raised by Jason's phone call start to slip away. "I have to meet him for lunch anyway, I can shout at him then. But thanks."
"Anytime."
xxxXXXxxx
August 24th
"What did he give us?"
"He gives us Jason Rossi buying the gun." Clarke flicked back through his notebook. "Sometime mid July. He wasn't too clear on the date. Says all he did was sell him the gun, and that was the last contact he had with him."
"How does he know it was Jason?" He tried to glance at his watch, tried to hide it from the two watching detectives.
He wondered how she was.
"Picked him out of a photo line up." Baldwin Jones bit back a snort of laughter. "Went straight to him."
Jim glanced quickly at his watch again, shivering in sympathy, despite the heat of his office. "Will he testify that Rossi bought an unlicensed firearm from him?"
Clarke and Jones exchanged careful glances. "If we give him a walk on some other charges, yeah."
"Good." Jim made a note on the case file, another piece of evidence against Joanna Rossi and her son. Glancing again at his watch. "I want this case as strong as we can make it."
"It's going to trial, then."
Jim nodded. "She turned the deal down."
xxxXXXxxx
He moved down the line, trying to smile encouragingly when he reached her. "Hello, Jess."
"What are you doing here?"
He gripped her hands tightly, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. "Where else would I be?"
The touch of his lips, of his hands, the only warmth she could feel in her body.
"Thank you for coming."
"Are you okay?" He flushed as soon as the words were out of his mouth, cursing himself for his inadequate words. "I'm sorry, Jess, I didn't mean…."
"It's okay." She almost smiled, almost laughed, stepping closer to him. Grateful for his
presence, for something real to focus on. "I think that's the first time anyone's asked since this all started."
He smiled, staring at the flowers surrounding the grave. "You want to go get a drink or something?"
"I cant, Nick. My mother…"
"It's okay."
"I'd like to." Her voice shot with her desperation. "But I cant, its…"
"I know." Nick shrugged, scratching his jaw, fingering the knot of his dark tie. "Maybe another time."
She didn't answer, her attention focused on her brother, cuffs around his wrists, gleaming silver against his dark suit.
xxxXXXxxx
"What can I get you?"
"A beer and a shot."
The drinks appeared in front of him and he lifted the shot, turning the glass through his fingers, savouring the change in colour as it caught the light. Then he shrugged, dismissing the thought, drinking it, grimacing as the fiery liquid stung his throat, slamming the empty glass down on the bar.
Jim lifted his beer and took a drink, swaying slightly on his stool as the alcohol coursed through his system, swimming through his veins.
He wondered how she was, if she was okay. If she hated him as much as he hated himself.
He saw her, then, at the far end of the bar. Sitting alone. Nursing a drink, her face illuminated by one of the small candles scattered around the bar.
Just for a moment, in the flickering light, her face caressed by shadows, she almost looked like…
"Another one, buddy?"
"Yeah." Jim fumbled in his pocket for his wallet. "And one for that girl over there. Tell her its from me."
End of Chapter Eight.