“And you worry that you’ll be like that?”
I nod. “I do.”
“I think you’d be a great father,” she says.
“I have my doubts,” I say.
“I’m not asking you to father my child, Andy.”
“Good.”
She’s quiet for a few moments, and I feel like I’m cowering in a foxhole, waiting for the next bomb to drop.
“Judge Morrison is going to rule in your favor tomorrow, and then you’re going to leave.”
“I’m not so sure. He could go either way on it.”
“I still don’t believe Eddie murdered those girls,” she says.
I’m feeling relief and less tension now that we have seemed to change the subject. It might be a sad commentary on me that I’m more comfortable talking about vicious murders than an intimate relationship. “I don’t either,” I say. “But among the many things that trouble me, one in particular stands out.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, let’s assume Eddie was murdered because of what he knew, probably who the real killer was. Then it makes perfect sense that the killer would get rid of Eddie.”
She nods. “Right.”
“But why force Eddie to write the note confessing to the murders? The real killer wouldn’t need that for protection; the murders were already blamed on Jeremy. So why would he bother to connect Eddie to the original murders? Why wouldn’t he just bury Eddie’s body somewhere and let Jeremy continue to take the fall?”
She thinks for a while and then says, “Because if Jeremy goes to trial, you will still be investigating the murders, trying to find the real killer. If everyone believes Eddie did it, you go home and the book is closed.”
“You’re a smart cop, you know?” I ask.
“Aw, shucks,” she says. “I love it when you compliment me.”
“I’m glad,” I say.
“And aren’t you also glad I changed the subject?” she asks.
“You have no idea,” I say.
• • • • •
RICHARD DAVIDSON is standing outside my house at seven-thirty in the morning when I take Tara out for our walk. It’s probably ten degrees out, and I don’t know how long he’s been standing here, but he looks like a Popsicle.
“I’m just real nervous,” he says, “but I didn’t want to wake you.”
“You want to go in and get de-iced?” I ask. “Or you want to walk with us?”
“I’ll walk, if that’s okay.”
“Fine.”
We walk around the block twice, which gives Richard time to ask me a hundred and fifty times if I think Judge Morrison will let Jeremy go free without trial. I give him my standard “It’s hard to tell” five or six times, but then start shrugging, since I’m afraid my tongue might freeze if my mouth is open too much.
The pressure he is feeling is not unlike waiting for a verdict. It should be easier, since even if this goes against his son, they’ve still got the trial, but that is offset by the fact that Richard has no experience with these kinds of things.
I invite him to have coffee with Kevin and me before court starts, and he leaps at the opportunity. He feels that he can get some special insight into what might happen by being with us.
As I’m getting dressed, the phone rings, and the woman calling identifies herself as Catherine Gerard. She tells me that she has seen the coverage of the hearing and that it’s important that she talk to me.
“What about?” I ask.
“Center City… that religion.”
I’m running late and wishing she would get to the point. “Can you be more specific than that?”
“My husband was a Centurion,” she says. “He left to marry me.”
The name hits me… Gerard. “He wrote those articles,” I say.
“Yes, that’s right. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
I tell her that I would like to talk to her very much, though in truth I’ll have no need to if Judge Morrison rules in our favor. I take her number and tell her I’ll be calling her back later to set up a meeting. “Is your husband willing to talk about this as well?” I ask.
“My husband is dead,” she says. “They killed him.”
“Who did?”
“The Centurions.”
My curiosity is through the roof on this, but I have to leave. I promise her that I will be in touch, and I finish getting dressed. I meet Richard and Kevin at the diner just as Kevin is saying, “I don’t know… it’s really impossible to predict these things,” when I arrive. Going by the look on his face, I doubt it’s the first time he’s had to say it.
I haven’t had the time to think about what Laurie had to say yesterday, but right now it hits me that if Judge Morrison rules the way I am hoping, Tara and I will be out of here by tomorrow. If I am, I hope I never see another bratwurst again; the diner has reacted to the media frenzy by renaming their bratwurst sandwiches after news celebrities. Their special for today is the “Brat Lauer.”
The street in front of the courthouse is the closest that Findlay can come to a mob scene. Media trucks dominate the landscape, and the townspeople are hovering in the hope that they will be admitted into the court. I see Laurie and her officers taking charge, making sure that order is maintained. It’s a scene that seems completely incongruous in this town.
We have to fight through a crowd to make it into the courthouse, and we’re brought into an anteroom to meet briefly with Jeremy. He seems so nervous that I’m actually concerned he is going to faint.
The entire scene feels weird to me; there is all the tension of an upcoming verdict without having had the trial. It is as if opposing football captains went out for the pregame coin toss to learn who has won the game.
Within moments the gallery is packed, and I see that Laurie has taken a position along the side wall of the room. She and I make eye contact, and I believe we are thinking the same thing: that in a few moments Judge Morrison will be the one deciding how long we are together.
The bailiff announces the judge’s arrival on the bench, and the hearing begins. It will be an unusual one for me in that I will not be called on to speak. Judge Morrison will just read his decision, and that will be that.
Unfortunately, Judge Morrison decides to do more than just read his decision. He suddenly seems to relish being in the media spotlight, and he makes a long, rambling speech about the effect of this case on the community, and the need for people to come together when it is over.
“And now to the matter at hand,” says the judge before citing the voluminous case law that he studied to help him reach his decision. I glance at my watch to confirm that he has spoken for twenty minutes without giving so much as a hint which way he will rule.
I actually start to lose concentration for a moment and steal a look around the courtroom to see if I can spot Laurie again. It is a change in the judge’s tone that causes me to once again pay attention. “… this court does not have the benefit of a final determination of the investigation into the death of Edmond Carson. Yet in the interests of justice, both for this defendant and this community, further delay is unacceptable.”
I sit up slightly; here it comes…
“It seems clear to this court that the facts as they are currently known would make it a miscarriage of justice for a jury to render a verdict of ‘guilty beyond a reasonable doubt.’ Therefore, until and unless these facts change, no jury should be called upon to consider doing so. I hereby dismiss the murder charges against Jeremy Davidson, without prejudice.”
The room explodes, and in the moment Jeremy looks at me, hoping that I will confirm that it means what he thinks it means. I smile the confirmation, and he puts his head in his hands and starts to sob his happiness. Richard and Allie Davidson move up from their seats in the front row and hug their son, then me, and then Kevin.