“Was Melissa Davids there at the time?” Jason asked.
“She was working there.” Jason’s father went to the refrigerator for his second beer, on top of who knew how many earlier that night. “A few years later, her husband’s family helped her buy the company from the original owners and she promised to clean it up. But all she did was change the name of the company and the guns. Right up until the assault weapons ban, they pumped out their MD-9 by the truckload, knowing that people were converting it to a fully automatic. The ATF traced hundreds of converted guns to crimes, including one here in Forsyth County where a cop got mowed down by a drug gang. When the ban expired five years ago, they brought the MD-9 back in all its glory, more popular than ever.”
Now Jason understood why his father recalled all these facts. Forsyth County was right next door. A police officer had been killed. A line had been crossed.
Jason’s father sat down with a thud and twisted the cap off his drink. This time, he didn’t bother with the glass.
“Do me a favor, Son. Don’t take that case.”
He stared at Jason, waiting for a reply.
“Son?”
Jason looked down. He didn’t want to trigger his dad’s temper. Not tonight. It was Christmas Eve. They hadn’t seen each other in months. One cross word and the Noble men would be at each other’s throats with dizzying speed.
But he wasn’t going to lie. And he wasn’t about to let his father start dictating what cases he should take. Did he tell his dad what crimes he should investigate?
Jason took a deep breath and faced into his father’s bloodshot eyes. “I already have, Dad. Everybody’s entitled to a defense.”
His father cursed, his face reddening. “Why do you insist on embarrassing this family?”
“My client didn’t shoot that woman.” Jason argued. He thought maybe he could play his dad like a jury member, appeal to the man’s bias. “You hold that company liable in a case like this and it’s only a matter of time before they go after Glock or Smith amp; Wesson. This is a Second Amendment case, Dad.”
“That’s bull,” his father said in an angry whisper. “And you know it. You want this case because you want to make a big name for yourself. Jason Noble. Big-time defense lawyer.”
Jason took the bait. He couldn’t help himself. Somehow his dad always managed to get under his skin. “That’s right, Dad. You know all about me. You’ve got me all figured out.” Jason felt his anger quickly spiraling out of control, the thing he had pledged would not happen on this trip. “Everything I do is wrong. I can never be good enough for the vaunted Noble name. The hard-working detective.” Jason scoffed. “If only they knew.”
“I don’t need your attitude.” Jason’s father stood, staring at Jason with disgust. “You’ve been here five minutes and you’re already starting in with this crap.”
Jason lowered his gaze to the table, seething. He had physically squared off with his dad just once, a few months prior to leaving for college. His father had thrown Jason to the ground and scrambled on top, pounding Jason until he begged for his dad to stop.
His dad had stood towering over Jason for a few seconds afterward. “You think you can beat the old man?” he taunted. Jason had lain there on the ground, gingerly touching his lip, blood streaming onto the carpet. He shook his head meekly.
“Clean up the carpet,” his father had said. Then he walked away.
His father was quicker and stronger than he looked. Every time they argued, that fight came cascading back, relodging itself so strongly in Jason’s memory that he could almost taste the blood. But then there were times, like right now, that Jason was so angry he didn’t care. Plus, Jason was older now. Stronger. His old man had undoubtedly lost a few steps.
In the heat of the moment, Jason wanted to jump up and start something, either beat the old man once and for all or force him to beat Jason so severely that it would end their relationship forever.
“You want to try the old man?” The words were taunting, echoing from eight years ago. They knew each other’s hot buttons.
Jason looked up, tears stinging his eyes. “What do you want to do, Dad? You want to hit me again? Go ahead and hit me.” Jason stood, holding his hands out to his sides, palms open. “Will that make you feel like a real man-beating up your kid? Maybe you can do some permanent damage this time.”
His father stood there, rage coloring every feature. Jason half expected the fists to fly at any moment. This time, he wouldn’t even defend himself. He would let his father do whatever damage he wanted. He would make him pay by never speaking to him again.
The face-off only lasted a few seconds, and then his father nodded his head a little, as if he couldn’t believe what a jerk he had raised for a son. He sat down in his chair, scoffed at Jason, and took another drink of beer.
Jason walked away, heading down the hall toward his bedroom.
“Where are you going?”
“To bed, Dad. Merry Christmas… Thanks for making it so special.”
26
For Kelly, there was comfort in going to church. She sat in the second row with her family-her mom, two older brothers, and two younger sisters. Of the Starling family, only Kelly remained unmarried, though the church members had been doing their best to set Kelly up since she arrived home a few days earlier. Who needed dating services when you had a whole church full of scouts and matchmaking geniuses?
Four grandchildren would enliven the Starling household tomorrow, reminding the adults of the simple joys of Christmas. Four was plenty, in Kelly’s opinion. She loved her nephews and nieces. But she also loved leaving the little rascals behind when she left her family’s chaotic home in Charlottesville and headed back to D.C.
Tonight, on Christmas Eve, there was a kind of somber peace inside the ornate church where Kelly’s dad served as pastor. Traditions, especially religious ones, had a way of soothing the spirit and bringing eternal perspective. The carols, the liturgy, the candles, and her dad’s short homily on hope all had a way of distancing Kelly from the turmoil of her legal practice. She hated the fact that Christmas snuck up on her at the law firm-her once-favorite season lost in a blur of billable hours and pro bono projects. Year-end reviews and bonus checks competed for attention with the baby in the manger.
Kelly felt a little guilty, sitting in church as part of the pastor’s perfect little family, knowing that she had probably cost her dad goodwill with some of his more conservative parishioners. Being one of the pastor’s daughters had always put her in the spotlight here, but it was compounded this year by publicity about the Crawford case. Unlike the Washington Post article chronicling her work with victims of human trafficking, this case had the potential to split the church-liberal social activists versus hunters and gun enthusiasts. But out of respect for her dad, even the church members who secretly hoped Kelly would lose the case had not said a negative word to her.
The service ended this Christmas Eve, like every Christmas Eve before it, with her dad leading in Communion. At the appropriate time, the attendees would file to the front of the church, be handed a small wafer, and take a sip from one of several chalices.
Kelly could still remember her first Communion, after she understood the true nature of repentance and the role of Jesus Christ in her salvation. Her dad had explained how Christ had commanded His church to take Communion as a remembrance of His sacrifice. The Communion elements, he explained, were powerful symbols of the body and blood of Christ.
Her eyes had filled with tears the first time she walked forward with her mom. “The body of Christ, the bread of heaven,” her father said as he handed her the wafer. She walked a few more steps and dipped it in the cup. “The blood of Christ, the cup of salvation,” one of the church leaders said. Kelly nodded solemnly and ate the wafer. She had returned to her seat and watched the rest of the church file forward, many seeming like they were only going through the motions. She had promised herself then, as a thirteen-year-old girl, that she would never take Communion lightly.