Andrew Klavan - True Crime

“She’d never believe …”

“Kids especially. You tell em something …”

“I know.”

“… and just cause they keep hearing it, they think it isn’t so.”

“I know. But she would never think you’d hurt anyone, Frank. She loves her daddy more than anything.”

He nodded to himself. He fought the urge to glance at the clock. It would be soon, that was all he needed to know. They would be coming to get her soon. He kept his eyes on hers.

“I wrote her …” He swallowed. “What’s that?”

“I wrote her a letter, you know. Something … I thought maybe she’d want something to have. I wanted to give it to her while she was here but …”

“It’ll be precious to her. It’ll be her most precious thing.”

“It seemed like nothing, you know. Way she looked at me when they took her. Just a damn letter.”

“… precious …” was all his wife could manage to say.

“Because I wanted to be there for her, you know.” “I know.”

“I wanted her to know that.”

“She will.”

He pressed his lips together. “Wishes and horses,” he said. “Thing is to just get through this now.”

“Don’t be afraid, sweetheart. I’ll be right there. And Jesus’ll be with you.”

“Hate to make you see this.”

“I’ll be right there.”

He nodded. “If I can see you, you know …? If I can see your face …”

“You’ll see me.”

“That’ll help.”

“I’ll make sure.”

He held her hands tighter. He didn’t glance at the clock. It would be soon. Looking into her eyes, words welled up out of him. “I sure didn’t mean this to happen to you, Bonnie.”

“I know, I know.”

“This sure wasn’t what I had planned, you know, for us.”

“It’s all right, Frank.”

He shook his head a little. “Man. Man. This life. I tell you. It sure didn’t go right, did it? Hard to make out, I swear, Bonnie. Hard to make out what it was all for, you know, in aid of. Only thing ever made sense to me was you, you and Gail. That made sense of everything. It was too short. You know? Maybe all you can ask for, I don’t know, maybe I should be grateful probably, I don’t know. Sure seemed like, you know, like I just got it figured. I just had it figured out. Then this damn thing.”

“Nothing ever mattered to me either, nothing but you and Gail. I never loved anybody until you, the first time I saw you,” Bonnie said.

“Damn thing. And what’s the point , you know?”

“You gotta have faith, Frank. You gotta have. I just know God has some plan. I know he means something in this.”

“Hard to see, you know. Hard to make out. Wish I had time, more time. Doesn’t seem like there was hardly any time for us.”

“No. No. But I love you so, Frank. I love you so much. We’re gonna be together forever, I swear.”

“Damn thing. Like some kind of joke or something. Hard to figure.”

“You gotta have faith. Jesus won’t desert you.”

“I know.” He sighed.

And the door to the cell opened.

Bonnie’s breath caught. She clutched his hands tightly. She didn’t take her eyes away from his. He tried to hold on to her, to her look, but finally, he turned away and saw Luther Plunkitt standing just inside the cell. Benson came in behind him.

The superintendent lifted one hand in a gesture of apology. His smile was apologetic too. “Sorry, Frank, we’re gonna have to ask Mrs. Beachum to leave now.”

Frank nodded. “Give us a minute, okay?”

And Luther nodded. “Sure,” he said.

Frank turned back to Bonnie. Her eyes were filling now, her lips trembling.

“Oh God,” she said.

“No, no, no,” he whispered.

“I swear I don’t know how I’m gonna …” She didn’t finish. She held his hands tightly.

“I won’t get a chance later, you know, to say goodbye,” he said.

She could only shake her head.

“You take care of our girl, Bonnie.”

“I will. You know I will.”

He took the letter he had written out of his pocket. He pressed it into his wife’s hands. “You give her this. When she’s older, you know. I don’t know what good it is …”

“I’ll give it to her. It’ll mean everything to her.”

“Take care of her, Bonnie.”

“I promise.”

“And yourself. Take good care of yourself.”

She sobbed, the tears streaming down her cheeks. Frank did not think he could bear it.

“We’ll meet again, baby,” he said. “This time forever. We’ll meet again.”

Bonnie tried to say, “I know.”

“You talk to me, you hear,” he said. “I’ll be there. I’ll be listening. You tell me how my girls are.”

“I will. I promise.”

He stood up, still holding to her hands, pushing his chair back with his body. He drew her up too. They stood looking at each other, holding their hands together between them.

“Oh God, Frank,” Bonnie said. “How did this ever happen to us?”

Frank felt himself losing control so he drew her into his arms and held her tightly against him so she wouldn’t see his eyes go damp.

“God bless you,” he whispered in her ear. “God bless you, Bonnie. You gave me the only life I had that was worth a damn.”

She whispered over and over that she loved him as Frank held her head against his shoulder and stroked her hair.

Outside the cage, Luther nodded to Benson and he came forward. He placed his key in the wall switch, then the mechanical, and the bars of the cage slid back.

Frank released his wife. Crying, she studied his face, ran her eyes over every inch of it. Frank bit his lip to keep it steady. Then he took her by the arm, guided her toward the bars. He felt her sleeve slip from his fingers as she passed through. The bars rattled shut between them.

Luther and Benson stood aside respectfully to let Bonnie pass. She walked with her head down to the cell door. When she got there, she looked back at him. But she couldn’t say good-bye.

“Good-bye, Bonnie,” he said.

Luther and the white-haired weight lifter followed her out.

Benson stayed behind. He looked at Frank a moment and then quietly turned his back on the cage.

Frank stared through the bars at the cell door. He felt a wild, terrible anguish of relief. It was finished, he thought. He had done for her what he could.

He bowed his face into his hands and began sobbing, loudly, painfully, his body shuddering uncontrollably.

I meanwhile broke into Michelle Ziegler’s apartment.

It wasn’t an easy job. I’d been there a few times before and I knew it wouldn’t be. Michelle’s theories about male violence made her nervous. She’d turned the place into a fortress. Three deadbolts, a chain and a police bar on the loft’s heavy door. After I parked outside the old Globe building, I popped the Tempo’s trunk, and armed myself with a tire iron for the attempt.

The outside door alone-the windowed wooden door that led into the big white brick warehouse itself-held me up for long minutes. I tried the buzzers first. I’d seen that trick on TV. There were five buttons besides Michelle’s and I pressed them all. Unfortunately, if anyone else was home, they’d seen the trick on TV too. No one buzzed me in.

So I tried pressing back the latch with a credit card. Working it between the door edge and the jamb. Checking through the door’s top window and glancing back at the boulevard traffic over my shoulder all the while. Checking all around like some sort of sneak thief, which I suppose is what I was. The street was beginning to darken now, maybe the heat was faltering a little, but the humidity remained dense and my shirt was doused from within as I waggled the plastic rectangle into the wood. Finally, I heard a click. It was my Visa card snapping in half. I drew it out and examined its chewed edges before stuffing it into the pocket of my slacks, disgusted.